


Earth's Mightiest

by kastron (decidueye)



Category: Leverage, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU, Crossover verse, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidueye/pseuds/kastron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan Ford became Iron Man: the nation's favourite superhero just weeks after he lost everything to Blackpoole. Now, grouped together by a government agency with others of his kind, he must face his adversary again. But can a mismatched band of supers really come together in time to save the world</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earth's Mightiest

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Leverage 2011/12 Big Bang, before I knew anything about the film, and so there is a complete disregard for film canon here. Just so that I didn't step on anyone's toes. Art by mizzy2k on livejournal can be viewed here: http://mizzy2k.livejournal.com/322949.html

Despite relishing the limelight that his newly combined superhero and billionaire status had granted him, there were times when Nathan Ford wanted nothing more than to lose himself. Not that this was always possible to achieve – Even before he had become Iron Man, the paparazzi stalking his every move had made anonymity something of a holy grail for him. When his status had risen to ‘defender of the nation’, the places that would allow him to drink himself comatose in peace had swiftly dwindled, and there was only one place he could always count on for complete privacy.

John McRory’s place had been a favourite of his since he was a boy, dragged along to his father’s more casual business meetings, left in the hands of bartenders all too happy to take care of (and coo over) his son. Back then, he hadn’t been able to drink but he’d spent hours perfecting his chess technique with the owner, and it was one of the closest to nostalgic memories he associated with Jimmy Ford – not that dad had been all that involved. Once his father had passed and the business had transferred to him, aged 21, he had continued to frequent the bar, and they’d come to an understanding where Cora, the owner – God knows how – would prevent anyone too nosey from witnessing his ‘moods’. Moods that Cora always reassured him were justified, given everything that had happened in the last few years. He wondered how long he would be allowed to use that as an excuse.

_Nate didn’t know why it had taken him so long to get to Europe; Estonia was fantastic. The idea had spawned as a publicity stunt: show the smaller countries, those still struggling to emerge from their former Soviet shadow, that America was looking out for them in a bid to stop the hostility that was being sent their way by the EU. A few photographs, some early morning conferences, a showcase of weaponry and the best part of ten days to explore the city of Tallinn with his son. Sam loved the place, chatting happily to anyone who would listen to him about how pretty the buildings were and telling them that Daddy was going to build a palace here someday. Nate had hardly seen the boy so happy, and he was already making plans to visit again; that was when everything went wrong._

_On the ninth day, Nate had planned a visit to Georgia, still recovering from the Russian air attacks that had only recently come to a halt. The aim was to pledge American support and assistance – of course, presented in any form other than the financial aid they were so desperate for. Tbilisi had yet to be rebuilt, and it wasn’t an atmosphere that Nate had wanted his eight year old child to be exposed to, and so arrangements were made for Maggie, Sam’s mother and Nate’s Personal Assistant, to take the day off and spend some much desired time on her own with the boy. No such luck. The life of a PA, as Maggie had always chastised Nate, was nothing if not hectic and she was called to an urgent discussion with the principal European shareholders, thrusting Sam into Nate’s arms with a disparate eye roll and vanishing moments before they were due to depart._

_“You want another holiday?” Nate remembered asking Sam, smiling when the boy pointed out that really, they were still on one before boarding the plane and leaving his son to the enthusiastic attentions of private air hostesses._

_Tbilisi had been as dismal as he imagined, and Nate watched as Sam’s excited face melted into a frown of disappointment on the journey from the airport. He didn’t know how to answer the boy’s queries as to why everything was so grey and why the people looked so sad, instead pulling him closer and remaining silent as he carded his fingers through blonde hair. They stayed that way for several hours, until their car pulled into freedom square, the driver motioning for them to exit just in front of the Liberty Monument. Sam had grasped his hand, a quiet indication that he didn’t want to be picked up: most likely a reaction to the sombre tone of their surroundings._

_They’d been targeting him. That much had been obvious from the moment his feet touched the paving, when the first bomb had exploded only a few feet from where the car had parked. Citizens screamed, cameramen rushing to capture the scene, and Sam let go of his hand. The monument exploded next, just a small blast emitting from its base before the pillar began to topple. Officials dived to drag the infamous Nate Ford away from the falling monument, narrowly saving his life, and he had begun to breathe again until he caught the glimpse of small feet from beneath the wreckage. Nobody had remembered to save Sam._

_Nate barely had the time to process his grief before the bombs rained down, the approaching planes completely missed in the impact of the attacks. Buildings that had lasted even through the Soviet Union began to crumble and the Square was on fire, Nate unaware of anything but his son’s body as those around him rushed for protection, finding none as the Square lost any resemblance to the open space it had been minutes before. He still couldn’t remember what it was that had knocked him out, but he woke up to an old man carefully prising him out from between rubble and an unexploded shell. A shell emblazoned with a familiar logo and the proud inscription of ‘Ford Industries’._

_“I did this?” the man later told him he’d croaked, ignoring his rescuer’s urgent shushes, “I murdered my son?” He’d passed out soon after, and woken 36 hours later in a poor excuse for a hideout, on a table he could only guess had once been a roof._

_During the thirty six hours he’d spent unconscious, Tbilisi had become the centre for an anonymous terrorist organisation, and a no-fly zone. The Americans, it could only be assumed, had given up any hope of finding Nathan Ford, and Petre, as the man revealed himself to be called, was a scientist who now found himself essentially a hostage, albeit one that the terrorists had no clue they were holding. When Nate began to protest, he’d only rolled his eyes – in a way that somehow reminded him of Maggie – and reminded him that, fugitive or not, at least he wasn’t a terrorist and he was the only one who could have saved his life. Because whatever it was that had taken him down (and it was something of his, he should have been able to recognise it) was nasty, and the shrapnel it had left behind was slowly making its way towards his heart. Or it would have been, had it not been for the chest plate that Petre had installed._

_Nate didn’t have the heart in him – quite literally, he supposed – to be grateful, but he did promise his assistance in putting a stop to whoever the hell had decided it would be a good idea to run Georgia, if only to get back at the bastards that had used his designs to kill his son. He’d spent the first two months drawing up plans for bombs, self-sacrifice somewhat appealing when the alternative was a life in a world without his son. Petre had torn the blueprints up when he was finally permitted to examine them, an uncharacteristic fit of rage sending Nate into a state of brooding and eventually hitting home, giving him the survival sense he needed to save them both. Places to hide became fewer and far between, and as Nate and Petre had examined their eclectic range of supplies they came to the realisation that only something crazy; something truly amazing could get them out of this. Luckily, there was a time when Nate had been more imaginative than the limits of modern technology, and Petre had placed the power source right in front of his nose – or, more accurately, his heart.  Utilising his chest plate, Nate worked on designs he hadn’t touched since his teenage years, when he’d been convinced he could save the world with a single suit._

_Apparently he could._

_Or he could try, at least. In reality, his escape had been a disaster. Petre had given his life when they were discovered to buy him time – another loss at the clumsy hands of Nathan Ford_ –  _and the materials had been disproportionate and they hadn’t secured enough plutonium. Still, he counted it as a win when the organisation, based in a somewhat ramshackle imitation of the former City Hall, met a suitably flammable demise. He crash landed in Azerbaijan much to the disgruntlement of a local farmer. It had taken a further two weeks – on top of the four months, apparently, that he had spent in the capital - to have his identity confirmed, and the news of his survival had stormed international press; his primary memories of his transportation involved Maggie’s terrifying intimidation techniques chasing paparazzi away. That, and crying. They’d both cried, when the reporters had finally left them alone and all they’d had left to think about was Sam._

_He hadn’t let them take him to a hospital. He didn’t want anybody to know that he was dying, and he was the best suited person to manage his situation, now. After all, his heart had become a machine, and no one besides his father understood machines better than Nate Ford._

What had transpired since that trip had been something of a drunken haze for Nate, and could only be recalled through brief flashes of colour and examining endless archives of news reports. Maggie had resigned as PA, terminating their relationship – if it could have been called that, as ineffable as it had been – unable to cope with the stress of losing their son. Nate suspended all production at Ford Industries, a decision that had shocked the masses and board members alike, dedicating his time to development of the suit and a thorough investigation of his company, determined to seek out the culprit who had been double-dealing their nation. He’d never expected it to be Blackpoole, his senior executive, his father’s best friend and the one employee he’d trusted more than himself. Blackpoole had laughed in his face when confronted, saying it was ‘about time Ford Industries caught up with where the profit lay’, and demanding the research notes for his infamous escape weapon.

Needless to say, Blackpoole had found his ass on the street before Nate could even finish mocking him. The old man had prepared for everything, though, and two weeks later IYS established itself as America’s new primary weapons distributor ( _“And I vow that our management is in no danger of the…mental breakdown that caused the demise of our predecessor.”_ Blackpoole had announced smugly to camera crews, and Nate was forced to buy a new television after throwing a bottle of whatever the hell he’d been drinking at the screen). Most of his staff – whom he suddenly realised he’d never been that attached to – followed, oblivious to the private developments Nate had been making outside of company files, and were it not for Blackpoole’s traitorous intent and misguided zeal for replicating Ford’s design, Nate might have been ruined.

Fortunately for him, his former friend had been all too keen to set his newly found terrorist allies against the world, granting Nate an excellent exhibition of his latest product: America’s best line of defence. Quickly dubbed _Iron Man_ , Nate had failed to keep the secret soldier’s identity quiet for more than two days, confessing clumsily – cockily, Maggie had informed him over the phone – when he was less than appropriately sober for the press conference he was attending, inspiring cheers from the majority and an instant restoration of faith in Ford Industries. Ford Industries, which was no longer a dealer of weapons but a guarantee of American safety for the next two decades. Blackpoole was never directly linked to the attacks, but his business suffered dramatically, and until Nate was given the chance to send him to his long overdue rightful place in a grave without landing himself in jail, he was content to watch the bastard suffer humiliatingly under the eye of the press.

Running a hand through his hair and sighing heavily at the direction his thoughts had, as always, strayed in, Nate drained the remainder of the whisky in his glass, motioning to where Cora was watching him, concerned, for another.

“Hello, Nate.” The clipped British accent stood out a mile in the bar full of Chicago natives. Nate would have choked on his drink if he’d had any left but instead coughed lightly and steeled his expression, determined to give the impression of only mild curiosity as he turned towards the source of the familiar voice.

“Sterling,” he noted, his voice a little thinner than he would prefer when he met the gaze of the man standing in front of his table, brown eyes looking calculatingly back at him and mouth curved into a slight smirk, “How did you find me?” A moment’s hesitation, “ _Why_ did you find me?”  Sterling raised his eyebrows, taking a seat without being invited and catching Cora’s arm to order his own drink as she brought Nate’s to him.

“No respect for formalities these days, have you, Nate?” he chided, “Though you never did, even when I was working for you. Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?” James Sterling had been one of the first to jump ship when Blackpoole had launched IYS, and Nate still hadn’t managed to work out whether his former financial director had been involved in Blackpoole’s plotting or whether he’d simply been wrapped up in self-preservation.  Either way, it hadn’t taken much effort for Nate to start hating the guy, and he’d been placed first on the _List of People I Never Want to Speak to Again_. Blackpoole wasn’t included, of course, on the basis that Nate was determined to break him, and wanted to rub it in his face as he did so. Settling back in his chair and gesturing this time for a full bottle of whiskey, he matched Sterling’s level stare with one of his own, quirking an eyebrow in the universal symbol for _get on with it, you fucker._ He wouldn’t be intimidated by the shorter man’s dry wit and sharp suits.

“I have a proposition for you,” Sterling began again, not taking his eyes from Nate’s as he spoke, “A proposition involving the downfall of your former executive  and all of the glory that comes with saving the world.”

“Again. Saving the world _again_.” Nate couldn’t help but put in, regarding Sterling with suspicion but unable to keep the smug smile from his face as the other man rolled his eyes disdainfully.

“Again, yes, of course. Not that you particularly _did_ anything last time, other than parading that ridiculous suit of yours and blowing up a few buildings by chance,” came the biting reply, before he composed himself, clearly remembering that he had come here with an aim, “Regardless, my boss has caught the ‘villain’ bug again, and this time it’s a little more serious than dealing with a group of amateur morons who were too trigger-happy for their own good.” Sterling leant down, clearly fiddling with a briefcase under the table – funny, Nate hadn’t noticed that when he’d arrived – before sliding a thick file towards his former employer. Unlabelled.

“Oh, goodie.” Nate muttered drily, attempting to hide his curiosity as he made to open it. He was stopped short by Sterling grabbing his wrist, an oddly earnest expression crossing his features.

“I think this matter is a little too _delicate_ to be examined in a bar, don’t you agree?” He pointed out, keeping his expression steady as Nate watched him for any signs of trickery. “Besides,” he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, “There’s one more seed I’d like to plant in your head before you go in all guns – or fists, in your case – blazing.” Nate heaved an exasperated sigh, regarding Sterling expectantly and idly contemplating if it was a British thing to beat around the bush so brilliantly.

“You eventually planning on telling me what you came here to tell me or just keep sitting there pretending that what you say is important?” he quipped, disguising his concern over what the file could contain with impatience. Sterling smiled in response, drawing out his response by taking a long sip from his drink.

“I’ve already given you the proof that what I’m saying is important, Ford. No, what I’m offering next is more akin to advice: Don’t do this on your own.” Nate stopped short of snorting in disbelief.

“What?” He asked, dumbly. _Don’t do this on your own_? How else was he going to do it? There’s no way he’d put innocent civilians in danger just because someone he didn’t trust to within an inch of his life was feeling paranoid. Sterling stared back at him as though he didn’t quite get why Nate seemed so confused by the concept, before clearing his throat and pressing on.

“It’s all in the file, but this – project – of Blackpoole’s…it’s big. Bigger than just you. And yes, I know that you want to screw the bugger over for what he did to your son but you really have to prioritise when the future of the _nation_ is at stake. Not to mention I’m sure anyone else would be happy to give you ‘dibs’.” He hesitated, mouth slightly parted and surveying Nate almost cautiously, “I’ve kept my eye on you, you know. I know you’ve been approached by SHIELD before. Does the _Avengers Initiative_ mean anything to you?”

Nate’s bark of laughter overpowered the general chatter in the bar and he looked at Sterling incredulously. SHIELD had been on Nate’s back ever since mere rumours of his suit’s development had begun to circulate, using the idea of ‘continuing his father’s research’ in an attempt to persuade him to join their super-secret boy band , or whatever it might have been. It wasn’t something that he had any interest in – he’d never been a team player; never wanted to be, and using his father as a manipulation tool meant that they clearly hadn’t researched their target enough to warrant any real respect from Nathan.

“Not that I’m not flattered that these guys won’t stop trying to recruit me,” he began, “but they really need to learn how to assess the person they’re approaching. First they use my father, and now _you_? If they’re aiming for people I trust and believe in, then I think they need a little more target practice.”

“I have nothing to do with them.” Sterling stood up as he bit out the reply, startling Nate as his expression morphed into one of disdain and what seemed like bitterness, taking a breath before continuing his speech. “I was simply _recommending_ that you didn’t do anything stupid and land yourself in prison or an early grave. As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter bollocks to me whether you choose to heed my advice or not. The principle of the matter is that Blackpoole. Must. Be. Stopped. Understand?” Sterling didn’t wait for an answer, turning on his heel and leaving Nate poised to retort, mouth open and looking carefully down at the file still beneath his fingers.

“I need to talk to Sophie.” He muttered, draining the bottle and calling out to Cora to put the bill on his tab as he exited the building.

**

Sophie Devereaux had appeared not two months after Maggie had resigned, all smiles and English charm and sensitivity, working her way up from a mere secretary for Human Resources to Nate’s new PA  in the space of eleven days. Of course, it helped that she had been – still was – immensely beautiful, but though Nate wouldn’t admit it he’d become dependent on her in a matter of weeks, her hopelessness when it came to computers being completely overshadowed by her nature. She was a rock to him, helping him deal with his son’s death. Without her, he didn’t believe he’d be even close to the stage of ‘moved on’ that he was in right now. Because he had moved on, to some extent, no matter what anyone else thought. Sophie had told him that he’d never fully recover but he would get used to the pain, and she assured him constantly that it wasn’t a bad thing to find himself going hours, sometimes a whole day without thinking about his son. Without her, Nate would probably be stuck in his basement, drowning in a combination of oil and alcohol and not giving thought to anything but Sam or his machines. As for the company, despite Sophie having so little experience with technology Nate sometimes wondered if she’d been born on another planet, Ford Industries’ organisational system and public relations handling had never been so efficient.

Having not been around during the time of Blackpoole’s betrayal, Sophie was the only employee he fully trusted (and sometimes calling her an employee seemed disrespectful, but he still hadn’t managed to put a name to the way he felt when he looked at her, so he’d clear his throat and keep things as professional as possible whenever she would ask him _‘What are you thinking?’_ ). Currently, she was sat behind her desk at his home, a thousand and one items on her to do list, one perfectly shaped eyebrow rising higher on her forehead as she listened to Nate recount the events in the bar.

“Can you believe it? He just waltzes into _my_ bar, after abandoning me two years ago without so much as an apology, the bastard, and just _expects_ me to trust him? I mean, sure, what’s in that file is a serious threat to American safety but why take it to me and not the feds? How am I supposed to know that the entire scheme isn’t faked and he’s not helping Blackpoole to frame me for something ridiculous? It’s clear enough the man wants the public to think I’m unstable and perhaps doing this would be falling straight into his trap.” Nate paced his office as he ranted, gesticulating wildly with the file still in his hands and barely noticing as the papers spilled to the floor.

“To be honest, I think this paranoid fit you appear to be having is doing you no favours in that respect,” Sophie responded, tone a mixture of gentle and chiding, “The question is whether you can really afford to let this go without investigation. You could always pass the file on to the feds yourself. Let them handle it.” Nate paused, mid-step, to look at her, and she smiled in a manner that practically screamed: ‘ _No, I honestly don’t expect you to do that, proud fool that you are’_. He sputtered, once, before shaking his head and continuing.

“Besides, what right does he have to imply that I wouldn’t be capable of handling this on my own? He doesn’t understand the full extent of my suits abilities. No one does, other than myself.  One fat cat – and one that I’ve already bested once, at that – getting too big for his boots and thinking that he can start making deals with Russia does not mean I have to join the government’s special boy scouts group for superheroes!”

“Hm.”

Well, that response was clearly female speak for _I disagree with what you’re saying_. “What?” Nate snapped, more harshly than he intended but Sophie merely looked amused, not taking her eyes off the paperwork she was concentrating on.

“Maybe that idea isn’t such a bad one.” She noted, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips, “Don’t you think that ‘Nate Ford and his band of merry men’ has a ring to it?”

“Are you joking right now?”

“A little,” swinging her legs around on the chair, Sophie got up from where she was sitting, gathering the scattered papers from the floor as she made her way towards Nate. “But the point still stands. With regards to public opinion, cooperating with other heroes would most likely do nothing but help your image, and if this thing _is_ real, and is as big as you think it’s going to be, don’t you think that having back up would be a good idea?” She was watching him carefully, eyes wide, and Nate looked back at her for a few moments before his mouth curved into a smug grin.

“You’re worried about me.” He teased, and Sophie blinked, trying to regain composure before she allowed herself to reply. She laid a hand on his arm, expression serious.

“Of course I am,” she responded, “What are you going to be when that suit of armour you hide behind goes wrong? Who’s going to look after you?”

“That’s what you’re for.” He pointed out, gesturing to her desk and weighing the words carefully so that they sounded casual, but it was clear that she caught their meaning perfectly, as always.

“I’m not all that good in a fight.” She chastised, smiling at something Nate didn’t understand, “and every time you go out there in that…thing, I’m left sat here, filing things and worrying about you, and from every encounter we’ve had with SHIELD…well, I’d rest easier knowing that you had support, if you needed it.” Nate’s brow furrowed as he processed her words, swallowing thickly.

“Sophie…” he began, then shook his head, “But it’s Blackpoole…I have to-“

“Your son would not want you to die for him, Nate.” Sophie’s reply was blunt, harsh, and Nate could hear the slight crack in her voice as she spoke, “I don’t think that scum like that is worth sacrificing yourself for. If you only stop being so bloody stubborn about it, you could survive this, and then maybe your victory over him will have some meaning.” Thrusting the papers she had collected forcefully into Nate’s arms, she marched back towards her desk, Nate struggling to keep hold of everything and watching her contemplatively. She was staring at the computer screen with an intense focus, attempting to subtly dab at her eyes, and something stung in Nate’s chest; after everything she’d done for him, he ought to be able to respect her in kind and offer her even the slightest guarantee of his safety. Was his pride really worth upsetting the only person he had left to support him? And if he was truly honest with himself, he was curious to meet the group of people America’s government had classed him to be amongst. Growling with frustration, he gestured vaguely towards her.

“I hate it when you make sense.” He complained, and Sophie’s expression immediately brightened, hands reaching for the phone and dialling a number she had memorised – damn her, she must have been thinking about this long before its necessity had come into play.

“I’ll book an appointment for this week, then, shall I, Sir?” she asked sweetly, and Nate grumbled his response, making his way towards the elevator that led to his workshop without looking back. Sophie watched him go with a satisfied expression, humming an old swing tune lightly to herself as she waited for the line to pick up.

When Nate emerged two hours later, his diary had a bright yellow post it note with ‘Bonnano’ and a smiley face attached to Tuesday, and Sophie was focused on the computer, gaze fierce as she chewed her lips.

“Nate…” she drawled, and he could predict the next words before they even came out of her mouth, “What does the blue screen with all the letters mean again?”

**

Nate had already changed his mind by Tuesday morning, and he shuffled into the office incredibly reluctantly, fixing Sophie with the best attempt at puppy eyes he could muster.

“That just looks strange,” she replied, barely sparing his face a second glance as she moved to straighten his tie, looking him up and down before dragging the zip up hoodie he’d been wearing  from his shoulders. She vanished for a brief second behind a clipboard before producing a suit-jacket, fixing him with a stern glare as he resorted to pouting before forcing him into it, “You should know by now that sulking is never going to work on me.”

 “It worked with Maggie.” There was an awkward pause as Sophie halted in the process of brushing dust from his shoulder pads. Nate winced, regretting the words the instant they came from his mouth. Sophie took a step back, giving him a thin lipped smile and tilting her head to the side.

“Did it now?” She asked him, eyebrow twitching as she turned on her heels, leaning over the desk and examining the screen with a small smirk, “Oh, look, they’re here. I’ll just buzz them in now, shall I?”  Without giving Nate a chance to protest, she pressed a deliberate finger on the button under the desk. A short hum of laughter emerged from her lips at the soft click of the opening door. Straightening up, she made to leave, but Nate dived for her, catching her arm and fixing her with a pleading look.

“Stay?” He asked, expression open in silent apology. Sophie regarded him carefully, eyes bland until she relented, dragging Nate with her to stand by the sofas he had prepared for business meetings.

“Don’t make a fool of yourself.” She muttered when three approaching figures became visible in the glass. Nate spared her a glare before turning to examine who had been sent to meet with him.

The first, a tall, slightly more than middle-aged man in a suit that only a government agent would wear, was a familiar face. Agent Bonnano had been the one to approach him when his suit had first become known to the public, requesting that his identity remain a secret and alerting him to the possibility of government interference. The man was easy-going in nature, but relentless in his pursuit, and since then they’d had several conversations, each of them ending with Nate’s increased interest but blatant rejection. Today, he walked with an unusual spring in his step, murmuring animatedly to the younger man by his side.

Nate hadn’t seen the other before: he was dressed much more casually than Bonano, wearing faded jeans and an obviously forced on dress shirt, slow responses clearly portraying his reluctance to be there.  His shoulder length hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and Nate’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion – he wasn’t the type he’d expected to see working for SHIELD, based on the information he’d gathered. When the two neared he took a step forwards, shaking hands with both and gesturing to the sofa behind them. Bonnano sat up straight, iPad in hand, whilst the stranger leant back, arms reaching across the back of the seat as he watched Nate coolly. The final stranger, an elderly gentleman with a cane, didn’t approach them, merely standing at the back of the room and regarding Nate with a typically stern expression.

“Mr. Ford, I’m sure you’ll remember me from our last meeting.” Bonnano began, and Nate frowned at the obvious smile behind his words. Were they really that pleased to have his interest? Bonnano continued, oblivious to Nate’s confusion, “This is Eliot Spencer, one of our best SHIELD Agents and longstanding co-ordinator of the _Avengers Initiative.”_ The third was not introduced, and Nate immediately dismissed him as unimportant, sitting up at the mention of the _Initiative_ and eyeing Spencer curiously.

“What can you do?” He asked, and Spencer leant across the table that separated them, fixing Nate with an intimidating glare.

“I can kill you in about four seconds flat without having to get up from this seat.” He replied, southern drawl giving the words a devil-may-care edge. Nate coughed uncomfortably.

“Ah. Well, I’m sure that’s…very pleasant for you.”

“It can be.” Spencer’s smirk was barely noticeable, and Nate struggled to evaluate whether he was joking or not. He swallowed, wondering if he was really going to be expected to work with people who threatened him as a form of greeting. Bonnano was watching the exchange with a slight smile, but caught Sophie’s glaring eye and cleared his throat.

“So, the matter at hand is that you are now expressing interest in being involved with our project…” he stated, breaking the tension between Nate and his agent. Nate nodded.

“You’ve finally got me convinced, after all that begging and pleading. Where do I sign?” he paused, “Though of course there will be a few conditions for my cooperation…” At this, Spencer snorted, and Nate turned back to him, one eyebrow raised, “Did I say something funny?”

“ _We_ will be the ones to lay down the conditions, Mr. Ford,” Bonnano intervened before Spencer could deliver the news, most likely in a more derogatory manner, “You must understand that your evaluations need to be reviewed before we can make any decisions regarding your acceptance into the initiative.” Nate frowned as he processed the Agent’s words.

“You wanted _me_.” he countered, “You’ve wanted me for years and I’ve been pushing you away. And now that I’m actually showing interest you’re telling me my position isn’t guaranteed?” he snorted, “What, were you just in it for the chase?” Bonnano continued, not reacting to Nate’s jibes.

“Our members have had little interaction with each other since their integration into our project. It is important to assess whether their personalities and abilities are going to be compatible, both with the aims of the initiative and with each other. Your reports…have raised concerns.” Nate shook his head with disbelief. He rose and strode across the room to his desk, pulling a decanter of whisky from one of the drawers and ignoring Sophie’s scathing look.

“So you’re telling me that in spite of everything I have to offer you, you’re going to dismiss it because I’ve raised ‘concerns’?” He asked as he poured the whisky into the glass, not sparing his visitors an offer, “What concerns are they, anyway? I function, my _suits_ function, I’m perfectly capable of holding my own and forming plans-“ his train of thought was interrupted when the third man coughed to make his presence known, walking towards where the others were sitting with an easy smile. Both Bonano and Eliot watched the man’s moves with an admiring, respectful gaze, and Nate was forced to re-evaluate his previous assumption of the stranger’s status.

“Yes?” he attempted, eyeing the man’s pastel shirt and paisley scarf with confusion; apparently all SHIELD agents were determined to dismantle stereotypes.

“You may be a hero, Mr Ford,” the stranger began, his clipped, British tone resounding across the room. He made his way to where the others were sitting, choosing to ignore Nate’s question, “But that is not all we require. You may think that you stand out because you received top marks in all that has been thrown at you, but a straight A student is not necessarily ready to play as part of the class. Yes, we do want you, Mr Ford. But we certainly don’t need you.”

He held Nate’s gaze for some time before taking a seat, grasping Sophie’s hand (she’d also risen when he’d entered; something about the man commanded that sort of respect) and asking her calmly whether she could provide him with a cup of tea. Sophie rushed to comply, leaving Nate standing, flabbergasted, at his desk. He drained his whiskey glass before marching back towards the table, struggling to come up with a response. Archie fixed Nate with a level stare, further knocking the inventor off his stride.

“…Who are you?” he eventually settled for. Really, nobody should have been allowed to get to his office without authorisation, and that door could only ever be opened from the inside. The man blinked, looking up at Nate as though he couldn’t quite comprehend that he didn’t know.

“Archie Leach,” he held out his hand to be shaken, and Nate took it robotically, “Director of SHIELD. And I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“Oh?” Nate began to settle back into the sofa, still rattled at the blow to his ego and sudden appearance of the as yet mysterious organisation’s leader, “I take it you’re the one I’ve got to impress then?”

“Ah, you’ve already done that,” Archie waved a dismissive hand, “The progress of your inventions has been under observation since the death of your father; Iron Man is without a doubt one of the most impressive superheroes to have been brought under consideration for the _Avengers Initiative_. It’s Nathan Ford that is causing the complications.”

“I don’t understand. If Iron Man has been approved, why don’t I come with it? The suit is nothing without me: Nathan Ford _is_ Iron Man.”

“Perhaps. But you have a somewhat volatile history and your track record with social relations is not the prettiest. We have it on file that Miss Devereaux here,” Archie smiled gratefully as Sophie handed him the tea he’d asked for – funny, Nate didn’t remember ordering any, “is the only person whom you’ve managed to maintain a stable friendship with since Iron Man was created. And it goes without saying that Miss Devereaux is an exceptionally patient person. The colleagues you will be expected to work with are guaranteed not to be so forgiving.”

“Are they all like him?” Nate jerked his head in Spencer’s direction, and the Agent scowled. Archie laughed.

“Much worse. You see, Eliot here has been trained to obey orders. Most of the others are exactly like you: large egos with a certain self-righteous attitude towards justice.” He paused, “Getting you to cooperate, I believe, will be a larger challenge than any of the adversities you may face together.” He paused, taking a sip of his tea and letting out a small, contented sigh before continuing, “So, Mr. Ford. What exactly is it that you have to offer that I might consider worth the trouble of your vehement spirit?” Nate hadn’t prepared for this, but he was used to having to sell himself to the press, and the man in front of him was no different than the vultures looking for anything to criticise him for.

“Other than my easy charm and wit? Innovation. Maybe every other super charged ego on your list is as good as they say they are, but no one observes a situation like an engineer does. My strategies even under pressure are impenetrable, and despite what you may think” his tone was pointed, almost childish, and he could feel Sophie rolling her eyes next to him, “I’m able to see what a person has to offer in regards to a _team_ effort. I worked hard to create Iron Man – my superpowers weren’t given to me – and that’s a pretty good show of intelligence, don’t you think?” he paused, attempting to gauge the reactions of the three agents in front of him, “Besides, if that’s not good enough for you, I have information.” At this, Archie seemed to perk up, even Spencer losing some of his obvious disinterest.

“Oh?”

“A source has notified me of some potentially dangerous goings on at a rival company,” he didn’t need to name IYS for everyone in the room to understand who he was referring to, and preferred not to expose his own bias outright, “And I have all of the information – unobserved by the government, by the way – in a single file. Allowing me into the scheme would give you unlimited access.”

“And we can’t just look at them now?”

“Sorry. Property of _Ford Industries_. You’d need a warrant.” Nate bit back, and Spencer muttered darkly in response. Bonnano leaned in with interest.

“This source; they’re reliable?” Nate hesitated. He didn’t believe that revealing Sterling’s identity to SHIELD would benefit them, and the man still worked for IYS – if the information he had provided Nate with was correct, he didn’t want to land him in trouble for assisting them.

“I believe so,” he replied eventually, “And even if he’s not, it’s not something you can afford to let pass you by. It’s the reason I’ve finally decided to join you; it’s too big to take on alone.”

“But not big enough for you to share with us if we don’t let you in.” Spencer pointed out, his tone heavy with sarcasm. Nate smiled.

“Like I said: I’m a strategist. I have a feeling that you’re going to let me in. I’m willing to work at playing house with the rest of the gang, so it’s worth me withholding this until I have some kind of confirmation.” Archie laughed again, his eyes not straying from Nate as he rose.

“Well, we’ll have to get back to you on that one,” he informed him, and Bonanno’s glee at Nate’s utter disbelief was poorly disguised, “We’ll have to consider your assets, you see…but you’ll be hearing from us by the end of the week, I assure you.” Bonnano and Spencer followed his lead, Bonnano stopping just short of Nate to deliver a final line.

“Bet you’ve never had a job interview before, huh?” he asked cheerfully, some resentment from the amount of chasing he’d done in the past evident, “You’ll finally learn what it’s like to wait for something you need.”

The three departed quickly and with less ceremony than they had arrived, wishing to remain anonymous now that more of Nate’s staff members were milling around the building. Nate watched from the window as the cars departed, Sophie standing by his side. He cleared his throat.

“Do you know what just happened?”

“Not really, no.” Nate hadn’t taken his eyes from the window, but he could hear the amused smile forming around her words, “But it was nice to see you get knocked down a peg or two.”

***

  


Walking through the corridors of SHIELD’s headquarters, Nate found himself decidedly unimpressed. Everything reeked of cliché and federal intervention, from the glaringly white corridors to the barely concealed disarray and empty offices. Despite the way the agency had sold itself, it seemed even they were vulnerable to the government’s attempts at resolving financial crises. Bonnano had escorted him to the building with grim satisfaction, and it didn’t escape Nate’s notice that the Agent’s back stood straighter since their arrival at the facility – an obvious demonstration of authority which he found to be somewhat endearing. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since his arrival at Ford Industries, and Nate finally cleared his throat to break the silence, wishing that they could have permitted Sophie to accompany him; he wasn’t anxious for meeting the Avengers, persay, but a familiar voice would have at least brought some entertainment during the build-up.

“So this is the kind of accommodation provided to Earth’s mightiest heroes?” he attempted, and Bonnano shot him a quick backwards glance, “You’d think they’d include a Jacuzzi at the very least.” The Agent snorted.

“Most of our training facilities are underground, Mr. Ford. You’ll forgive us if we aren’t in a rush to expose you to all of our secrets right away?”

“Of course, of course. Since when did the government trust anyone, let alone the people they’re expecting to single-handedly protect the nation?”

“Not _single_ , anymore, Mr. Ford,” Bonnano’s voice contained a hint of exasperation, pausing at the end of a corridor to enter a code and glancing back as his fingerprints were scanned, “Agent Spencer will be debriefing you before you are escorted to where the team is to be assembled.”

“Spencer?” Nate stopped in his tracks for a short second before recovering himself. “So, by ‘debrief’, I assume you mean ‘brutally murder’? I seem to remember we didn’t get along the first time we met.”

“Well, then, now’s the time to make amends.” Bonnano sounded more weary than annoyed at Nate’s continued protests, leading him into an expansive room which appeared to be some kind of reception. Conversation echoed along corridors which were carefully placed behind a desk filling much of the room’s centre. Bonnano directed Nate into a chair before moving towards the desk, murmuring softly to the receptionist and smiling when she replied.

“He’s just being contacted now.” He informed Nate, returning to his side and then adding, “I don’t think he’ll be long.”

They waited for another five minutes, once more in silence before the sound of a door opening interrupted their attempt at breaking their previous record for awkwardness. Nate looked over to see Agent Spencer standing some way down one of the corridors, briefcase in hand and deep in conversation with someone who he could only assume was another agent. They paused in the doorway for a moment, giving Nate time to make out the other’s hair pulled into a rough bun (was the length a requirement at SHIELD, or something?) and a guard fastened securely around his wrist. Spencer made a few quick gestures in the direction of Nate and Bonnano, and the other agent nodded, leaning in to murmur a quick comment in his ear which seemed to be amusing before departing. Spencer attempted a small smile as he made his way towards them, nodding at Bonnano and holding out his hand for Nate to shake. Nate hesitated before taking it, suspicion from their previous encounter still lingering in his mind.

“Nathan,” Spencer began, and Nate blinked at the use of his first name, “Glad to hear you made it through. I’ll be taking you down to the training ground, where some of the other members are already waiting.” Nate cocked his head slightly, still not quite able to fathom Agent Spencer’s sudden change in attitude.

“Alright… _Eliot_ , was it? Just how many of us are there, anyway?” falling in beside Eliot as the agent began walking, hands moving efficiently to the catches on his briefcase.

“Including us: five. It’s a pretty selective scheme. Here, Archie asked me to give you their files – something about prior knowledge and strategic expertise.” Four brown folders were forced into Nate’s hands, and he struggled to keep up with Agent Spencer’s steps as he began to flick through them, names and images catching his attention.

“Alec Hardison? I’ve heard of him: renowned hacker and forerunner in computing developments. But he’s famous for breaking the law…” He murmured, eyes widening as he scanned over the details of the other’s abilities, “…And turning into a giant green rage monster, apparently. How’d he keep that one out of the press?” Eliot snorted in front of him, and Nate cast his eyes briefly in his direction. Unsure whether it would be right to read the Agent’s file in his presence, he moved Spencer’s file to the bottom before continuing.

“Captain America…what a fantastic and original name choice; me; who the hell is Parker?” Eliot shrugged.

“Not a clue; this is the first time most of us are meeting. The only information Archie gave me when I asked was that she’s ‘a little confused by the world’ and told me to try and refrain from resorting to violence.”

“So, Parker is insane.” Nate concluded, tucking the files under his arms and letting out a soft sigh, “We’re going to make an interesting group….” He tailed off, deep in thought. Could a mismatched band of superheroes really be as effective as SHIELD believed that they could be? Based on their profiles, Nate was finding it hard to believe that their powers were compatible, let alone their personalities. He didn’t want to miss his only chance for vengeance by gambling on a barely functioning plan. Sighing, his hand tugged absently at his curls. Eliot caught the movement and slowed, watching Nate carefully and coming to a stop when the nervous gesture didn’t cease. He fixed Nate with a serious expression.

“We’ll get him, you know.” He announced, and Nate jolted out of his reverie, looking toward the other man sharply.

“Who?”

“Blackpoole.” Nate spluttered, and Eliot continued, “Come on. You wouldn’t have been willing to come to SHIELD if this information of yours didn’t have something to do with him. I just wanted you to know that his actions haven’t escaped our radar, and everyone wants to take him down. What he did to your son was unforgivable. Did he even try to justify that?” Nate’s features froze, the image of his son caught beneath the rubble, Blackpoole’s smug satisfaction as he made false promises about his new company stuck fast into his mind. He swallowed thickly before replying, tone deadpan.

“You don’t have the right to talk to me about my son that way, Agent Spencer. You and I are not friends, and don’t think to presume we ever will be.” Eliot looked taken aback for a moment, his hand – which Nate could only assumer had been making his way toward his shoulder in some gesture of comfort – hovering mid-air as he processed the words. Shaking his head, he lowered his hand and snorted.

“Right, ‘cause you have so many of them,” he retorted, his eyes seeming softer than the harsh one of the comment, “And you’re not going to need one when you’re faced with a room full of powers more than happy to take your place as the figurehead of this operation.” With that, he turned briskly around, marching the rest of the distance to the elevator and gesturing for Nate to follow. Nate hesitated, caught between feeling sheepish and defiant. He placed himself next to Eliot in the elevator, carefully avoiding eye contact and making sure that he was the first to exit in an effort to maintain dignity. Eliot huffed out a small laugh behind him, and Nate pretended he hadn’t heard, struggling to prevent the small smile tugging at his own lips because of their childish actions.

For all the budget restrictions that Nate had noticed on the ground floor, the playground for SHIELD’s newest, shiniest project had been spared no expense. The room they entered upon stepping out of the elevator  was at least the size of Ford Industries’ main office, and doors spaced evenly along each wall gave the indication that every possible need and environment had been accounted for. As it was, the room they were standing in would easily have served as a ‘team base’ by itself: empty space with weights and weapons lining the walls were separated from a conference table surrounded by wide-spanning screens by a short glass barrier and steps. Two figures were already seated there, and Nate cast a backwards glance towards Eliot – who seemed to have developed a convenient, serious interest in a pair of nun chucks hanging beside him in a surprising show of insecurity, the coward – before crossing the room towards them, polished shoes echoing across the floor and catching their attention. One, a lean, dark skinned man who Nate recognised both from the file and several, infamous newspaper reports as being Alec Hardison, stood up at the sight of him, moving to where the steps were as Nate ascended them.

“Nathan Ford!” Hardison’s voice contained a boyish sort of enthusiasm, and Nate couldn’t help but wonder for a brief moment if he might be too young for this, whatever their government was planning. “I’ve got to say that I am a huge fan of yours. I’ve accessed your database so many times –man, that was a difficult one to get through – and well, those new developments you’re working on seem awesome! Don’t suppose, ‘cause we’re working together now, there might be some hope of me getting a prototype…?”

“Not a chance.” Nate rebuffed Hardison’s request, all too used to paparazzi trying to access his research, and held out his hand for the other man to shake. It disturbed him somewhat that the hacker had been able to pass through his firewalls, but he wasn’t particularly surprised; the man’s reputation was unrivalled, after all, “I’m somewhat of an admirer of your work, myself. Well, more of a paranoid observer. Tell me, how does someone of your, ah, _profession_ end up…” He mimed how Hardison’s power might look, unable to think of a delicate way of phrasing it. Hardison raised an eyebrow.

“Hulking out?” he supplemented, and Nate shrugged, “Kind of a funny story, actually. This medical company were in the final stages of trials for some serum that was supposed to cure cancer or something, I don’t know, but it was valuable. I’d managed to get into the research lab no problem –their protocols were ridiculously outdated, it was like taking candy from a baby, seriously – but I-“

“-Got stuck trying to take the syringe out and decided the only sensible way to escape with it would be by injecting yourself with it,” a feminine voice interrupted them, and Nate’s attention was drawn back to the table, Eliot finally beginning to make his way towards the group.

“I’d done my research; the thing was supposed to be safe!” Hardison protested, mumbling begrudgingly, “I planned to recreate it…not that much of an idiot, you know…”

 “Either way. it’s not particularly funny; he was just telling me the longer version.” The woman began to rise from her seat, allowing Nate to take in knee high brown boots, and a skin tight suit of red, white and blue. Eyebrows raised at the excessively patriotic attire, Nate drew his gaze towards the woman’s face, noting with some suspicion the helmet and mask which shielded most of her features from vision.

 “Captain America, I presume?” If she wasn’t, Nate dreaded to see how anyone could appear more nationalistic than the heroine in front of him. The woman smiled, revealing white teeth and blinking somehow familiar chocolate eyes.

“That would be me. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Ford.” Nate frowned; her accent was so neutral that it was impossible for him to place what part of the country she came from. He didn’t like people who kept secrets.

“And who’s that when she’s at home?”

“Captain America. Or ‘Cap’, if you insist on shortening it. I think it’s my name is my own business, don’t you?” she responded smoothly, and Eliot whistled lowly behind him as Hardison moved away, murmuring _‘Danger! Danger!’_ through gritted teeth. “I joined the Avengers on the condition that my identity would be allowed to be kept separate from the work that we do. My ego isn’t in such dire need of a stroking that I have to place those I care about in danger by publicising what I do.”

“You’re calling me a narcissist for appreciating a little acknowledgement?” Nate moved closer to her, ignoring Eliot’s warning hand on his arm and eyeing her critically before retorting. “At least I actually put some thought into what I’m doing. I’m sure you think that outfit looks fantastic on you, and your file says that you’re some kind of genetically enhanced super human, but without reinforcement it’s simply not practical. What were you thinking when you designed this?” Captain America took a step backwards, chest heaving as she took a deep breath, biting her lip to control her anger.

“Your father designed this suit.” She murmured softly, and Nate stopped, agape. His mouth worked soundlessly at a response, brows furrowing in confusion as he tried to process how the woman, surely younger than he was, could have known his father who had done nothing but work until the day he died and didn’t even have time for his own child, let alone anybody else’s. She spoke of him fondly, and the thought of his father being so friendly with anyone while he was left to make his own designs, just a boy, made him sick to the stomach.

“Wha – But that’s impossible – How can you –?” His weak attempts to reply were interrupted when the sound of a cane on hard flooring drew everyone’s attention away from the impending argument.

“Perhaps you should perform a more thorough investigation of the files I have provided you with, Mr. Ford,” Archie called from where he was standing at the other side of the room. A tall blonde was hiding behind him, decked in what appeared to be a full medieval suit of armour, one hand gripping the pastel fabric of his suit-jacket, “Then maybe you would be able to obtain at least a cursory knowledge of how not to offend your teammates within five minutes of introducing yourself to them.” Nate coughed at the words, suddenly feeling sheepish. Still, he managed to send a glare the Captain’s way when her smug expression practically shone through the mask she wore.

“Sorry, sir.” He muttered almost inaudibly, aiming to distract the others from the embarrassment of his reprimand by focusing on the new arrival, “I take it this is Parker? She’s the only member not present, unless she’s been invisible this whole time.” As if to confirm her identity, the girl jumped at the sound of her own name, tugging sharply on Archie’s sleeve.

“Greetings!” she yelped. Her eyes blew wide and startled, roving over the rest of the team as though she didn’t quite know who to make eye contact with. She took a deep breath, throwing Archie a quick glance before looking towards the ceiling, as though remembering a speech she’d rehearsed. “My name is Parker, though I think I am better known in the Mortal Realm as ‘Thor’.  It is an honour to be here among such…awesome examples of your race!” The speech was finished triumphantly, and Nate was too caught up in the look of pride on her face to process her words. Eliot, however, had stopped listening from the second sentence, spluttering a response just as Nate caught the strangeness of her statement.

“Wait a minute; _Thor?_ You’re trying to tell me that you’re the god of freakin’ thunder?” the Agent folded his arms across his chest , scowling as Parker nodded slowly, unsure as to why Eliot was parroting her words, “No way. You’re all kinds of crazy. For one thing, isn’t Thor supposed to be…I don’t know, _a guy?_ ”

Parker laughed, a strange, yapping sound that made it clear she didn’t really have much of a clue what was going on.

“Gods do not really have genders,” she explained, an amused smile on her face, as though she considered the notion quaint, “And whilst we may have appeared to your ancestors, we were not the ones who wrote it down.” Parker snorted. “The Vikings were fantastic humans!”

Eliot stared her down, the girl returning his gaze with a startling intensity until he turned away, moving to take a seat at the conference desk and muttering, “I’m still not buying it.” Hardison, on the other hand, stumbled past Nate with the enthusiasm of an untrained puppy, crossing to where Parker stood and taking her hand.

“No, no, I’ve heard of this!” He began, excitement radiating from him even as Parker shook his hand a little too firmly, “It’s the McSweeten Theory, right? The one regarding parallel universes and the Einstein-Rosen Bridge? It became famous in certain circles once that satellite landed – I remember SHIELD was on red alert then, too…” His gaze drifted towards Parker’s free hand, which was clutching an enormous metal hammer with practised ease. Nate saw Hardison’s eyes narrow, and could see the gears ticking in his brain as he processed the information – his intelligence was going to be valuable. “Hold the phone; that’s… _you_ were McSweeten’s case study?”

Parker looked almost embarrassed, shuffling closer to Archie as she nodded shyly in confirmation. Hardison must have caught the movement; whilst his mouth opened to ask more questions no sound came out, and he took a deliberate step back, hands brushing firmly down his shirt as though to calm himself.

“What I’m trying to say is that it’s going to be awesome working with you, girl.” He told her, smiling softly and offering her his hand again, this time to hold rather than shake, “Come on, no use the others dropping eaves on my geekism.” Parker hesitated until Archie gave her a slight nudge, nodding with satisfaction as the girl – deity? – reached for Hardison’s hand and allowed him to lead her to the conference table where the others had been watching curiously. “That’s Nate – he’s Iron Man – Captain America, and Eliot Spencer. I don’t know what Eliot does, besides stand there and look like someone just farted in his general direction.”

Parker nodded at Nate and the captain, snorting at the final comment – although evidently bemused by the slang, she caught Hardison’s mocking tone and seemed amused by it. Eliot turned away from the pair, obviously annoyed at Hardison’s comment but reluctant to cause the girl any further tension.

“You’d better watch it,” he retorted through gritted teeth, hands flexing, “Or you’ll find out what I do.”

Archie cleared his throat, having followed behind Parker and Hardison, and moved to stand at the head of the table. Everyone started, shuffling to take seats, and Nate moved to do the same, only to be stopped by Archie’s hand on his arm. The older man fixed him with a stern expression, lightly pressing on Nate to guide him into standing next to him, facing the others.

“Since you were eventually so kind as to provide us with the files you used to blackmail our agency,” Nate winced at the dig, “I took the liberty of providing Hardison with the information required to provide you with a visual aid. Would you care to inform everyone of the reason we have finally put this scheme into action, Nathan?”

Nate coughed, and Hardison quickly flipped open his laptop, plugging something into the USB port and making a small noise of satisfaction as his desktop appeared spread across the screens on the wall in front of them. A few taps later, the image of Ian Blackpoole filled the screens, and Nate struggled to prevent himself from growling.

“Right, OK then. Ian Blackpoole, as most of you know, is the founder of IYS, one of America’s current weapons providers and world renowned asshole. I’m sure I don’t need to go into what he’s responsible for…” Hardison made a distinct gesture towards Parker, and his eyes widened in realisation, “…But just in case I do: he’s sold nuclear technology to almost all of America’s enemies; funded amateur mercenary and terrorist projects – none of which, I might add, have succeeded; and we won’t start on his personality issues. Very good at keeping his hands clean, though, which is why he’s never worried that the authorities might get something on him.”

“I do not understand,” Parker inputted, somehow having found herself a bowl of popcorn and chewing contentedly, “If his attempts so far have been unsuccessful, or thwarted by the metal man,” she pointed at the series of tabloids concerning Blackpoole Hardison had projected onto the screen, “Then why is Earth so threatened by him now that five of us are required to stop him?” Nate’s jaw set, nodding to Hardison, who clicked onto the next slide: a symbol of the rising sun crossed with two swords: a logo.

“Because this time, he may have found an organisation worth funding.” Nate continued grimly, “My source has provided us with evidence that Blackpoole has been feeding most of his funds into a small but radical organisation known as _Nightshade_ , working from a group of warehouses in the suburbs of New York. Based on the surveillance photographs included,” Hardison produced them dutifully, “It seems as though he might be directly involved in the research himself.”

“And what exactly is it that they’re researching?” Captain America was watching the screen somewhat warily, but Nate could tell by the way her fingers gripped the table’s surface that she was interested. He paused, taking note that his team included both someone from another universe and someone from a decade where computers were considered magic; he’d need to adjust his language accordingly.

“Biological warfare. _Nightshade_ is attempting to harness the BDBV form of the ebola virus – deadly when not controlled – enhancing its treatment and contagiousness by splicing the DNA with that of other, harder to follow diseases, such as the common cold. A successful release of this virus into the atmosphere would cause worldwide devastation; even the US doesn’t have enough resources to manage an outbreak of something new should it infest itself in over 40% of the population. And the problem isn’t just the physical effect that the disease would have; an unknown epidemic would undoubtedly kick start a chain reaction of panic, leading to economic and political collapse.”

“I do not understand the method of which you speak, though I can see how such an outcome may be disappointing.” Parker commented, and Eliot looked at her incredulously.

“Just ‘disappointing’?” he asked, shaking his head and adding, “There’s something wrong with you…” Nate decided to carry on with his briefing, not wanting to let what he hoped was banter escalate.

“Exactly. It would be disastrous. And my source has proven in these files,” click, more slides, “that the research is already in its final stages. Blackpoole has the technology to distribute this, and we have very little time to stop him. What I’m proposing is that next week – “

“Now hang on just a minute,” the Captain interrupted, raising a gloved finger in protest, “Are you really expecting us to be capable of operations within a single week? We have only just met; you can’t expect a team to be prepared that quickly.”

“She’s right,” Eliot inputted, “I’ve spent months training with partners before group operations. You have to understand how everyone works.” Nate opened his mouth, ready to protest, a full tirade sitting in his throat about how Blackpoole needed to be stopped; how this was their only chance to catch the man who _killed his son_ on legitimate grounds, and if they wasted their time attempting to play happy families they could miss it, and the planet would suffer for it. As he began, however, he was interrupted by Archie’s stern cough, the man’s presence overpowering as always.

“You most of all, Nathan,” he faced Nate, amusement behind his eyes as he spoke, “If you are to be the tactical engineer of this ensemble, you must understand  your teammates to the slightest detail, and that can only happen with prolonged observation. I have seen the notes; we still have two months before the virus will be ready for distribution. We must take advantage of that time to ensure that when we launch our offensive, we do not fail.”

Nate sighed, hands automatically reaching for a flask that wasn’t there when he caught the self-righteous expression beneath the Captain’s mask at this lecture. Of course, working with a team increased the likelihood of his victory, but similarly heightened the chances for failure if they weren’t compatible. His plans _did_ need a thorough understanding of potential variables, and a few weeks of their time lost would not cause any serious damage.

“Right,” he agreed, stress seeping through the words, “You’re right.”

“One more thing.” Eliot sat across from him, his eyes narrowed warily, and Nate wondered if the agent was ever going to trust him, “This source: who is he?”

“He, ah, would prefer to remain anonymous. He works for Blackpoole; you can understand the risks of having his name circulated before we infiltrate.” Eliot held his gaze for a moment, looking as though he might say more but then conceded, standing up with his fists already balled as though itching to move.

“We going to start training, then? I can show you all the rest of this arena, and how to fight like an agent.”

**

Three weeks later (at least Nate thought it was; time was so difficult to keep track of when trapped in a basement with four raging heroes), their training sessions still ended in nothing but conflicts. Nate had finally snapped, refusing to wait for Hardison and Eliot to end their daily bickering session and instead storming from the room, catching a taxi back to his home and locking himself in his own basement, where the machines were much less complicated than the people he had been forced to deal with.

“Miss Devereaux is making her way towards the workshop, Sir.” The mechanical voice of PAUL, the personality that Nate had programmed into both his suit and his home’s security system, reverberated through the basement, giving Nate time to fling himself at his desk.  Slipping the flask of whisky he’d been taking sips from into a desk drawer, he quickly pulled his computer system towards him, conjuring the databases he had been working on the previous day. He adopted a serious expression, trying to seems as though he had been doing some kind of work, rather than ‘pointless tinkering’, as Sophie so often accused him of doing.

“Thanks, PAUL.” Nate gave a grateful look towards one of the speakers, pulling his holographic monitor closer to him and opening the skill set he had been drawing up for Parker.

“Perhaps if you were less inclined to performing in a manner of which she would not approve, you would not require me to –“

“Mute.” PAUL’s voice cut off as the door to the basement swished open, the soft click of heels on the floor announcing Sophie’s entrance. Nate kept his gaze fixed to the monitor, ignoring her approach until a thick pile of papers were dropped in front of him with a depressing thud, one of Sophie’s hands coming to rest on his shoulder as the other dangled a pen in front of his face.

“You need to sign these.”

“ _All_ of them?”

“Weeks without coming into the office will leave you with a backlog of paperwork.” Sophie explained, and Nate huffed, able to hear the light mockery in her voice. He shifted slightly as she moved closer, pulling a seat towards herself and leaning over Nate’s shoulder to peer at Parker’s profile. A 3D construction of the deity stood in the centre of the hologram, complete with full suit of armour and fierce expression. Next to her floated a replica of Mjollnir, labelled with its strengths and potential uses.

“So, how is your band of merry men coming along, then?” she asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow as she turned to face him. Nate sighed, running a hand through his hair before waving it, dismissing the image of Parker and leaning back in his chair.

“Each and every one of them has a magnificent skill set and is capable of causing some serious damage – in the name of the American government, of course.” He began, “It’s just…That’s what we’re all capable individually. By rights, together we should be unstoppable, and in theory –“ he brought up a series of statistics and hypotheses he had been experimenting with, “ – that’s the case. But we just aren’t a team. Yesterday a fight broke out in training: Spencer snapped over something small and stormed out. Hardison called us a time bomb, and I’m starting to think he’s right.”

There was a pause, and Nate cast a brief glance towards Sophie, who was watching him sympathetically, before returning his gaze to the plans, unable to focus. He heard Sophie take a breath beside him.

“You knew that was going to happen, Nate.” Her voice was soft; gentle; reassuring, “From the start this had always been a risk, and these are fantastic people – all of whom are accustomed to working alone.”

“I know.” He replied, wrinkling his nose and shifting, the side of his body relaxing slightly into Sophie’s, “I just didn’t expect it to be so stupidly difficult.” Sophie snorted, rather inelegantly, and Nate struggled not to crack a smile.

“Do you ever do anything that isn’t difficult? Things come far too easy to you, Nathan Ford, and that’s the reason you’re always seeking such challenges.” She hesitated, and Nate glanced down at the top of her head, waiting for her to speak. “Have you ever thought that you might be making things difficult for yourself? I’m sure that it’s not only your teammates who are struggling to cooperate.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” Nate joked, and Sophie laughed.

“Trust me: it hasn’t really been a walk in the park working under you for as long as I have.” She answered, “A lesser woman would have walked out months ago.”

“A lesser woman wouldn’t have made it past the doors.”

“But that’s my point,” Sophie moved so that she could turn to face him, meeting his gaze firmly, “You’ve never been a team player yourself. That’s why you avoided signing on for so long, wasn’t it? I’m sure that they’re finding it as difficult to deal with you as you are with them. You’re supposed to be their leader, Nate, and all I see –which means all they’ll be looking at – is someone who has no faith in them.”

Nate’s mouth opened slightly, shocked – though he supposed he shouldn’t have been – at the firmness in her voice. Sophie was right, of course; she always was. That had been one of the reasons he’d hired her: even in the interview, she had been bluntly scolding him for the state of his public affairs, and ‘ _not to mention this…pigsty you call an office! You really must hire me, you know; I’m a dab hand at fixing things up.’_ From then on, he’d learned to take the woman’s lectures seriously, understanding that she would never be anything if not brutally honest with him. He winced as he caught Sophie’s expectant expression , knowing that she wouldn’t rest until he forsook his treasured pride and admitted that he hadn’t taken himself into account when working out the kinks of the team.

“What can I do?” He conceded, face pinched with stress at the knowledge that the longer they waited, the further Blackpoole could progress with his research. Yet what was the point in storming in there only to destroy themselves? It would only provide the world with a mortifying sort of entertainment, the knowledge that their main hope at survival had failed hilariously. Sophie placed her hands on Nate’s knees, seeking his gaze and holding it as she spoke.

“You really can be a good leader, Nate. You just have to incorporate yourself into your plans, and remember that you’re not an observer. You’re _part_ of that team, not outside of it, and you need to love them.”

Sophie had gripped Nate’s hand in a gesture of comfort and he automatically leaned in at the touch, placing his free hand over hers. Pausing for a moment, the two of them regarded each other, Nate’s thoughts moving slowly in the direction of Sophie’s lips before a jolt of panic dissipated the moment. Sophie inhaled before standing hurriedly, smoothing the fabric of her shirt.

“I have work to do,” she made her way across the workshop, pausing when the door opened to let her leave, “Think about what I said.”

When Sophie was gone, Nate slumped back into his chair, breathing out slowly before shaking himself, leaning forwards and opening the profiles of each team member once more.

“Love them?” he muttered to himself, frowning, “I guess I can try.”

**

When Nate finally located Eliot, it was in one of the smaller training rooms and he wouldn’t have noticed the agent were it not for the soft call above his head.

“You looking for me?”

Nate looked up to see Eliot positioned carefully, hanging upside-down from one of the narrow beams, inches away from the room’s ceiling, two daggers clenched tightly in his hands. Nate nodded, taking a step backwards, and Eliot unfurled himself, using wires to drop himself carefully to the floor before retrieving the grip hook on the beam and returning it to his belts.

“Impressive.” Nate commented, and Eliot shrugged.

“It’s what I’m good at. My codename at SHIELD is Black Widow.” He paused, eyes sliding away from Nate’s raised eyebrows, a little embarrassed, “I don’t talk about it much.”

“They’re just as deadly as anything else,” Nate replied nonchalantly, “More so, in fact. I’d fear you.”

“Huh.” Eliot moved to lean against a pommel horse, eyeing Nate with a mixture of amusement and suspicion, “Go on then.”

“What?”

“Well, you’ve not been looking for me without a cause. Obviously you’ve got a question you want to ask. Is it about Hardison?”

“How did you –?”

“You’ve got very distinctive body language, Nate, and I’ve been trained to spot it. Go on, then: hit me with it.”

“If you know it’s about Hardison, do I have to say much more? I just wanna know why it’s so easy for him to wind you up. You don’t seem like the type to snap so easily, and you’re perfectly controlled with the rest of us.” Nate stood opposite Eliot, palms open, expression neutral. Eliot had been wary of all of them from the start, Nate knew, and if he wanted the agent to be honest with him, then he needed to make himself appear as earnest as possible. He was surprised to find it as easy as it was; his concern for the agent, so clearly keeping whatever was bothering him bottled up, was much stronger than it had been in the weeks prior. Or perhaps he just hadn’t been allowing himself to acknowledge it. Eliot watched him, features tense, and then sighed, tugging absently on his ponytail.

“Hardison isn’t taking this seriously enough. We’ve all been told what’s at stake, but he barely trains and seems to be treating the whole thing like one giant frat party, only putting the effort in when he thinks it’ll help him pick up a girl…or whatever she is.” Eliot hoisted himself onto the pommel horse, glaring at the floor, and Nate swallowed.

“Well, Hardison’s skill set doesn’t exactly lie in strength that needs to be maintained, particularly. I suppose he doesn’t see the point in refining something that’s already fully developed for him?” Eliot’s palm hit his thigh in frustration, and he looked up at Nate fiercely.

“That’s it, though! Everything’s already been handed to him!”

“I…don’t quite follow?” Nate furrowed his brows in confusion, trying to decipher the source of Eliot’s anger.

“Look, it’s nothing against any of you or anything, but you genuinely can’t understand the position I’ve been forced into as the only person who isn’t ‘super’ on this team. I don’t have a suit, I’m not a god or genetically enhanced or a moron who got himself mutated; I _worked_ for this. Since I was fourteen and I saw what was going on in Afghanistan. I worked and I trained because I wanted to _do_ something for the world. Now I have to look at you: people who gained these things because you were lucky, or because you were ‘chosen’, and you’re doing this because you think it’s fun. Man, sometimes I question how these choices are made; what makes Hardison any more capable of handling that than I would be, or…the plumber that had been fixing the pipes in that lab before he broke in? Why him?”

Eliot stopped, his shoulders suddenly embarrassed at his expression of emotion, and Nate struggled to maintain his blank expression, guessing that he wasn’t quite finished. He hadn’t been expecting this depth of frustration at the hacker – at all of them, really, though Hardison had been taking the brunt of it – and was struggling to think of how he could respond, particularly when most of what the agent was saying rang true. Eliot began to scratch into the surface of the pommel horse, frowning, before opening his mouth to continue.

“Honestly, Nate, I think what all of you have done and are doing is great, and I know that we wouldn’t be able to stop Blackpoole without you. Hell, we wouldn’t have even known about him. But it just frustrates me. And you – Hardison in particular; I guess that’s why he riles me so much – don’t seem to understand that being super doesn’t make you perfect. You’ve been given something awesome in the literal sense, and you shouldn’t take it for granted. You should hone it. That’s what this entire project was built upon, even since before I was assigned to the damn thing.”

Another pause, Eliot picking at the covering in a manner that he clearly knew was childish, reluctant to look Nate in the eye. Nate cleared his throat, taking a step closer to where the other agent was sitting.

“You finished?”

“Yeah.”

“Eliot, I understand why you think that, but don’t you trust Archie? You’ve worked with him for far longer than I have; surely you know that he wouldn’t have picked us for this if he didn’t consider us to be ideal. There are plenty of other superheroes out there, whether they’re known or not, and any one of them would have been honoured to be selected for a scheme representing our nation.” Nate’s defence felt somewhat self-serving, and he struggled to hide a small smile at his own words, sensing that Eliot wouldn’t appreciate the gesture (and there wasn’t any hope that it would go unnoticed). Eliot himself nodded reluctantly.

“Of course I trust him. I’d follow him to the death. Thought I had, a couple of times. I know he reads people better than I do, but I just can’t see what he has planned for us. And people make mistakes, you know?”

“Not when there’s so much riding on choosing the right people.” Nate frowned, thinking back through Eliot’s words.

“You really think you’re the only person without powers on this team?” he questioned, and Eliot looked up in confusion.

“Well…yeah. I am.”

“So what are mine, exactly?” Eliot scoffed.

“You know what yours are. That suit, it’s –”

 “It’s an invention. A mass of alloys and advanced technology that I created after decades of research. I’d been dabbling with the idea of that suit since university. Sure, the idea was a little reckless, born from too many comic books and believing too much in the adverts my dad used to make, but making it real took _work_ , Eliot. I had to study to take over my dad’s company, even harder when he passed, and producing the kinds of weapons I did when Ford Industries was still active was pretty much how I trained. Even now, I work with most of the day with all of you and when I get home I’m assessing every problem I encountered: what that could lead to in a more threatening battle situation and how I could modify the suit to prevent, well, death. That’s not super; it’s not even close. To tell you the truth: it’s exhausting.”

Nate hadn’t meant to return Eliot’s emotional spillage with one of his own, and he felt himself flushing at the confession. He noticed that Eliot had sat up straighter and was regarding him carefully, as though not quite sure whether to believe what the older man was telling him. Eliot’s eyebrows rose, and he seemed almost…concerned.

“You mean that?” he asked, and Nate laughed softly.

“This is probably the most honest exchange of information that’s taken place between any of us since this whole scenario came into fruition.” Eliot smiled, showing a sliver of teeth, and nodded his consent to Nate’s point.

“Wouldn’t be surprised.” He commented, voice somewhat heavy, not yet caught up with the change in tone from heartfelt to amused. Nate took a step forward, reaching out to give the agent a friendly shake of the arm.

“You get what I’m trying to say, though right? Not that I’m some kind of genius – even though I am – or that my brains are exactly the same as your fighting skills. Just that, even without a gift, what we work for and what we’re willing to dedicate our lives to is always going to be much more valuable and worth maintaining than anything we were born with or gained by coincidence. It applies to them, too: even you have to respect Hardison for his computer skills, and they’re what led him to this mess.”

“You think that’s why it happened to him? Because he’d already proven that he could work for something?”

Nate held up his hands, backing away from Eliot and towards the room’s exit.

“Now that’s getting into dangerous territory. Far too philosophical for my scientific brain! I’ll leave that with you to ponder…and perhaps Parker.”

“That lunatic? No way.” But Eliot was grinning as he spoke.

“She just thinks a little differently, that’s all. Culture differences.”

“I get it, I get it.” Eliot’s hand waved dismissively and Nate nodded.

“Right, I’ll leave you to perfect your…way of the widow, then.” He teased, and even as Eliot gave him a view of the dirtiest glare and his middle finger, the grip hook was launched back towards the beams, Eliot springing deftly up.

Nate later walked in on the agent in the main conference room apologising to Hardison by reluctantly presenting the computer geek with a bottle of his beloved Orange Squeeze. Watching from a distance (and pretending that he hadn’t seen Parker doing the same), he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass of the screens, shocked to find that he couldn’t keep the smile he had only ever seen on the face of a proud parent away from his lips.

**

Nate was in the main conference room, watching Hardison and Eliot attempt to teach Parker how to play scrabble and laughing whenever the deity put down words she claimed to be from her home world when Captain America approached him. A gloved hand tapped him deftly on the shoulder, and he turned to face her, unable to mask his wary expression.

“What do you want?” He asked, realising only moments after he had spoken that he probably should have been more civil to the Captain, now widening her eyes at him, particularly given his current interaction technique of ‘loving’ his teammates. She gave an obviously strained smile, standing with her hips tilted and arms folded.

“Eliot was kind enough to bring to my attention the other day that you and I haven’t exactly managed to ‘click’ yet. I have to admit I didn’t know what that meant at first,” her mouth twitched sheepishly, and Nate smirked – there must be so much slang that the woman hadn’t managed to catch up with, “But once I found out I had to agree with him. There’s clearly some kind of underlying tension between us, and if we’re going to succeed at this, don’t you think we ought to try and sort it out? Work it off, maybe?” Nate raised an eyebrow at her choice of wording.

“For the team?” he questioned, lips quirking, and the Captain regarded him, puzzled.

“For the team.” She stated, as though there could be no other option, “Why don’t we go to one of the training rooms together?” She began walking away before Nate had the chance to reply, pushing through one of the doors and Nate hurried after her, the flustered, subconscious need to obey feeling somehow familiar. Dismissing the thought, he made sure to grab the case containing his suit as he followed the captain into a large, open arena with a high ceiling. The captain stopped in the centre of the room, leaning on a supporting pillar and calling back to him. “So, what do you think we should do?”

“I think we can help you there.” The pair of them turned around at the sound of Eliot’s voice to see that the three remaining members of their team standing in the doorway, identical, wolfish grins on their faces. Nate blanched; he hadn’t noticed any of them get up from their heated game around the table. Taking advantage of their surprise, the threesome sprang into action. Hardison ran towards the Captain as Eliot grabbed Nate’s arm, dragging them towards each other and swiftly slipping a pair of handcuffs over their wrists before either had the chance to protest. Simultaneously, Parker threw _Mjollnir_ into the air, gripping the strap of the hammer as it flew and allowing it to pull her up, hanging a small ring on the ceiling before dropping back to the ground.

“You must attempt to retrieve the ring within the hour!” she exclaimed triumphantly. Nate spluttered.

“But with these I can’t put my suit on!” He protested, shaking the handcuffs vigorously, oblivious to the Captain’s annoyed look as her arm was dragged with his. Eliot smirked.

“Then I guess…”

“No suit!” Hardison finished, and they fist bumped as the three of the retreated, Parker slamming the door behind them with a gleeful laugh. Nate eyed the closed door ruefully.

“I think I preferred it when they were fighting…” he muttered, and Captain America let out a bark of laughter beside him.

“Well, they’re a team now; isn’t that what you wanted? I do believe this is their way of returning the favour…” She told him wryly. Nate sighed, looking up at the ring dangling tauntingly from the middle of the ceiling.

“By asking us to do the impossible? I get that working together breeds companionship and all of that crap, but don’t you have to _succeed_ for it to work?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a genius? Have a little faith, Mr Ford: they wouldn’t have given us a mission that we couldn’t accomplish. Let’s just…consider our options.” The Captain dropped to the floor, crossing her legs and chuckling as Nate stumbled down with her.

“Have you ever been in a situation that you’ve considered completely hopeless?” he asked bitterly, attempting to make himself comfortable on the wooden surface, “I bet you don’t even know the meaning of ‘fuck it’.”

“I have been.” she replied, tone neutral, “When I had to crash a plane into the Arctic. I mean, we still won, but the outcome was fairly hopeless for me.”

“Oh.” Nate winced at his own lack of tact, and blinked in surprise when the Captain merely nudged him, grinning.

“But I thought I was going to die then, and look how that turned out! So it should be no trouble getting back that silly old ring when compared to that, should it?”

“…No.” Despite himself, Nate found the Captain’s persistent optimism and enthusiasm catching, and he smiled, leaning back on his (and the Captain’s) palms and staring at the ceiling, “Alright then; you got any ideas?”

“Neither of us can fly,” the Captain looked thoughtful, “And without both of my arms free I don’t think I can get the momentum to throw my shield hard enough to knock it down… How about we start by finding out what your problem with me is?”

“That makes no sense.” Nate laughed uncomfortably, refusing to look her in the eye.

“It does. Any ideas I have rely on mutual effort, and that’s never going to happen with the way you’ve been looking at me since we were introduced. Sure, our personalities are contrasting, but you don’t seem to trust me.”

“I don’t. Why should I when I don’t even know who you are?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I haven’t seen you in anything but that ridiculous suit and mask; every time I refer to you it has to be as ‘Captain America’, which for one thing makes me feel like I’m being forced to look up to you and for another is just stupidly _long_ , and whilst the others are willing to talk about their lives, you’ve said nothing beyond the fact that you knew my father. Point, by the way: That’s probably the most unfair piece of information you could have given, by the way, seeing as I barely knew him myself. So no, I don’t trust you, because as far as I’m concerned there’s nothing there to trust.”

“Does a name and a face really tell you who a person is?” The Captain asked softly, and Nate shrugged.

“It’s a start.”

“I can’t tell you. There’s a reason I can’t, and I consider it a good one, but obviously I can’t explain that either. But I don’t see why it should make any difference – it bears no reflection on what I can do or how reliable I am.”

“No, but I have nothing to build an opinion on.”

“Because you haven’t tried getting to know me! The others trust me because I’ve spent time with them, and they know that I’m an honest person. No, I don’t say much about my personal life, but in all honesty I’m so busy trying to catch up on modern culture and maintain a day job that I don’t particularly have one worth talking about. And talking about the past is…hard. I get that you’d probably love to hear more about Jimmy Ford, but you have to understand that to me, he’s only just died. You’ve had more than a decade to come to terms with it, and I…I just haven’t, yet.” The captain’s voice cracked slightly as she spoke, and Nate felt a surge of guilt run through him. He’d been stubborn, as always, and he hadn’t bothered to consider the reasons behind her actions, even though it was his job to do so – because they would, and did affect the team dynamic. His fingers clenched slightly against the floor, still reluctant to admit his mistakes.

“I still hate calling you that, and if you don’t give me a name soon I’m going to have to make one up for you.” He replied hesitantly, glancing over at the captain and noting her smile. She clearly understood that it was his own way of attempting to apologise, and Nate frowned in confusion, wondering how she could read him so well. “It’s a waste of syllables and we might need the precious time it takes to say your name in a mission, you know?”

“So shorten it.” She said casually, pulling herself to her feet and shaking the handcuffs to indicate that he should do the same, adding with a teasing tone, “I know it’s a bit soon after our ‘bonding’, but do you think you’re ready for supporting me, now?”

“Huh?”

“Well, it’s _Mulan_ , isn’t it?” she explained, gesturing to the pillar standing firm in the centre of the room, obviously a little embarrassed, “Hardison demanded I catch up on my Disney films, and I only saw this yesterday. You use the extra weight to haul yourself up.” Nate blinked. He had watched the film with Sam several times (his son had had a weakness for the dragon), and he faintly recalled a scene during one of the songs where the heroine used dead weights as leverage to retrieve an arrow. In theory, the same principle should apply, and Nate’s eyebrows raised, impressed.

“You’re right – but which of us is the ‘extra weight’?”

“Both of us. Or neither, it doesn’t really matter. Look, come here.” She led them towards the pillar, positioning Nate on one side before going to stand opposite him, “Take my hands.” She commanded, and Nate responded instinctively.

“Now what?”

“If we both lean away from each other, we should have enough support to be able to walk up the pillar. Then I can hold us in place while you retrieve the ring.”

“You do realise that not everyone has the arm strength of a monkey on steroids, right?” came Nate’s incredulous reply, making the captain laugh.

“Of course not. But you don’t need it: I may be stronger, but the handy part of the serum is that I’m still fairly light. I can take most of the weight and we’ll be fine. But we have to time it right, and you’re going to have to trust me not to drop you.”

“Not sure if I can do that, Cap,” Nate feigned a serious expression, and the captain smiled at the nickname, “This whole conversation could have been a secret ploy to persuade you to let you drop me from a high surface.” He paused, and then smiled, “Come on, let’s get on with it.”

Gripping her hands a little tighter, Nate placed his foot against the pillar, waiting for the Captain to do the same before leaning backwards, feeling the strain and then attempting to lift his second foot. After a few false starts, the pair eventually made it beyond the first metre, both counting steadily to time their steps, and the captain motivating Nate soothingly when he began to feel his arms attempting to break free from their sockets. When they finally reached the top, the captain wrapped one arm determinedly around the pillar, the other secure on Nate’s waist as he leant forward, reaching out for the ring and sighing triumphantly.

“Now what?” He asked, moving back towards the pillar, and the captain’s grip shifted on his hip.

“Now…I drop you.” She grinned, letting go and Nate flailed uncertainly, shoulder protesting as he hung from the handcuffs still connecting them. He glared viciously at the captain as she swung him back towards the pillar, allowing him to wrap one arm around it before they both slid down – though his heart wasn’t in the expression.

“I knew it!” He accused, and she laughed lightly, Nate again feeling a pang of familiarity. He shook himself, watching the captain carefully. She was clever, and strong, and she deserved more than how he’d been treating her. In a gesture he hoped would convey his growing trust, “That wasn’t half bad, you know. I’ve been thinking…my basic plans for the offensive on Blackpoole need a little more development. I don’t suppose I could run them by you?”

The captain broke into a wide, genuine smile, “I’d be honoured, Mr Ford.” She emphasised the twang in her accent, fanning herself in the perfect impression of a typical southern belle. Nate laughed weakly and rubbed his hands together, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Right. Well, let’s get going then…Domnique.” The captain paused, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head, beginning to walk towards the door, leaving Nate once again to hurry behind, “Caroline? Miriam? Raquel?”

“Keep trying.”

“I’ll get it!”

***

“Alright, everyone, are we ready?”

The team were cramped into an unmarked van outside the cluster of buildings they had been informed were Blackpoole’s main research laboratories. Nate was itching to move, uncomfortable with how glaringly obvious they might appear to anyone manning the security footage. Catching his anxiety, the Captain’s hand made its way onto Nate’s shoulder, her fingers briefly tugging on the hair at his collar. Everyone nodded, Hardison performing one final check on the monitors in front of him before turning to Nate, obviously disgruntled.

“I still can’t believe you’re leaving me out here,” he sulked, ignoring Eliot’s blatant eye roll, “You know I’m just going to worry about you. It sucks, Nate.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it leaving you behind; without you we wouldn’t even be able to get across the front yard, let alone navigate the security systems and locate where the virus is being produced,” Nate explained patiently. It had been clear to him that the hacker wouldn’t be pleased with his role in the plan from the moment it was formed, and he’d been prepared for this sort of protest. “Hardison, your job here is more important than what any of us are going to be doing inside – you’re keeping us alive.”

“Yeah, but I –“ Eliot grasped Hardison’s arm, stopping him mid-complaint.

“Sometimes the skills you earn through hard work are more useful than the ones you get through some dumb accident.” The Agent told him, and Nate allowed himself a small smile at the words. Hardison met Eliot’s gaze seriously, pausing a moment and then nodding.

“Thanks, man.”

“Not to mention, with you out here and keeping watch over us through the comms, our back up’s going to be pretty brutal,” The Captain chimed in reassuringly, “We do need you, Hardison.” The hacker broke into a grin.

“Damn right you do!” he exclaimed, “Age of the geek, baby. Even Superheroes need a bit of brains behind their brawn.” He nudged Eliot teasingly, who growled.

“Don’t push it.”

“Come _on_ , guys, we must depart!” Parker shifted impatiently, jerking her arms and causing Hardison to flail at the sound of ringing metal as _Mjollnir_ collided with his equipment. Nate held back a short burst of laughter before reaching for the case containing his suit. Checking quickly to see if the coast was clear and making sure they were in the surveillance’s blind spot, he stepped from the van and into his suit before waving the rest of the team – sans Hardison – out to join him. As the helmet fixed itself into place, Nate heard Hardison’s voice in his ear.

“ _All comms are online. Stage one complete at 23:04; acquiring database…and we’re golden.”_ Nate turned to the others as PAUL began to feed him information, noting their high blood pressure and adrenaline levels and hoping that they wouldn’t affect the mission.

“Remember, we have to stick to the plan.  No going off the rails unless you absolutely have to. In fact… not even then.” Eliot nodded seriously, laying a hand on Parker’s arm and making eye contact with Nate.

“We’ll go first. You won’t be able to reach the main lab until the manpower’s been depleted anyway.” He said, and both he and Parker stood up at Nate’s consenting gesture, pausing quickly to clasp hands.

“Avengers, _synchronise_!” Parker exclaimed gleefully, and Eliot rolled his eyes as Nate and the Captain simultaneously quirked their eyebrows.

“Hardison’s got her watching cartoons. She thinks we should have a catchphrase.” He deadpanned, and Nate shook his head despairingly.

“Just…go.” He said, waving them off, and they ran quickly towards the wall, Parker using _Mjollnir_ to pull the two of them over the barrier before they disappeared from Nate’s sight. He felt the Captain’s shoulders heave beside him, her sigh brushing against his ear.

“You think they’ll be OK?” She asked him, and Nate grimaced, unable to stop his own worry from rising in his chest. They were perfectly capable of doing this job, but he found himself attached in a way he hadn’t let himself be since his son had died. He couldn’t dismiss the paranoid, drunken part of his mind that was convinced that they were soon to be taken from him like Sam was.

“They’ll be fine.” He forced out weakly, “Now, come on – let’s get ready for our job.”

**

Eliot breathed evenly as he and Parker made their way along the wall of the grounds, pausing at the ventilation shaft of each building while Hardison performed an analysis of the interior. After weeks of necessary but tedious training, the agent was grateful to feel the rush of adrenaline of being on a job, rather than being stuck training with lunatics. Next to him Parker bounced gently on her toes, and Eliot idly contemplated how the deity’s constant, restless fidgeting didn’t make enough noise to alert the whole city to their presence.

 _“Keep going for about twenty.”_ Hardison’s instructions sounded in their ears. The pair began to move, interrupted only seconds later by the sound of an approaching guard. Eliot grabbed Parker’s armour, pulling her sideways against the building and clapping a hand over her mouth to silence the protests falling on her lips. They listened to the guard’s footsteps increase in volume, Eliot preparing to strike as he turned the corner only to have _Mjollnir_ fly past him, making contact with the guard’s face with a sickening crack. Eliot turned to Parker, eyebrow raised, and she returned the gaze somewhat smugly.

“Ha.”

“This next one better be it.” Eliot muttered, refusing to rise to her bait, “We’ve only got so much time...”

 _“Hey, I know what I’m doing! Oh ye of little faith…Yep, this is the one. The system’s main power supply is located here and a cut should provide enough cover for Nate and Cap to reach the virus – well, until they wisen up and realise that the only reason someone would break into a group of apparently abandoned warehouses would be if they knew about and wanted, oh, let me think…the virus. I still think this is too risky; surely they’d just go to defend that?_ ”

 _“Careful what you’re saying there, Hardison. He might hear you.”_ Nate’s dry tone and the Captain’s soft laughter joined the conversation, making Hardison sputter in his attempt to backtrack.

“Archie told us to have faith in Nathan Ford,” Parker chimed in quietly, already beginning to undo the fastenings on the  cover of the ventilation shaft, eager to get on with the business of breaking in. Her faith in SHIELD’s head was unshakable; she had attached herself to him when Earth was still so confusing to her. Other than McSweeten, who was now missing, he had the only person patient enough to guide her through menial, human tasks.  “And so I think that is what we must do.”

_“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Just know I’m watching all of your asses.”_

The comm went quiet and Parker removed the cover, hoisting herself into the ventilation shaft and moving forwards so that Eliot could follow. He barely fit inside the narrow airway and for once thanked SHIELD for his skin tight uniform, mind again flashing to the armour that Parker seemed to be having no trouble with.

“How the hell do you move in that suit?” he grunted through his attempt to crawl, and Parker laughed.

“Asgard, my home world, harbours many wonderful things.” She responded wistfully, before using her foot to bring Eliot to a halt, looking down into what the agent could only assume was the room they were looking for. “Hardison, we’ve arrived.” She murmured quietly, and Eliot heard a small crackle as the comms burst back into life.

“ _Right. Eliot, you’ve still got the device I gave you, right?”_

“Of course I’ve still got it; why the hell wouldn’t I?”

“ _I don’t know, maybe it was crushed by your manliness, or something. Anyway, so you’ve got to attach that to the mains. It’ll be the biggest one, probably in the centre of the room, with some kind of red sign that means ‘do not attach electrical crashing devices to my baby’_.”

“There’s an infant?” Parker inquired in a shocked whisper, before relaxing at Eliot’s growl of ‘It’s a geek metaphor, Parker.’

“ _Yeah, anyway…just do that and the device will work its magic all by itself.”_

“Gotcha.” Parker swiftly lowered herself into the corner of the room, leaving Eliot to pull himself towards the opening, assessing the environment before he joined her. Parker was perched on some kind of machine, plastered against the wall to avoid the notice of the lone security guard, rocking back idly in his chair. Eliot moved quietly to join her, crouching in place and leaning in to whisper.

“I don’t think he’s going to be much trouble.” He pointed out, and Parker shook her head, “Hope there’s a few more nearby for afterwards, though. Pretty shitty distraction if they don’t care enough to move from the place we’re trying to infiltrate.” He began moving across the tops of the machines, careful not to let his boots make too much of an impact on the metal surface, crouched silently above the guard and already noting the pressure points that were exposed. Eliot leapt in one fluid movement, leg outstretched automatically to take the man out before he was aware of Eliot’s presence. Lowering the now unconscious man to the floor, Eliot signalled to Parker to join him and she moved to do so, her fist pounding casually against the machine the agent was leaning on.

“So, this is the magical box we need to destroy?” She asked, and Eliot shrugged.

“Only one way to find out,” he replied, pulling Hardison’s device from his pocket and plugging it into what he hoped was the right socket, “…You know, I really don’t think they picked the right team members to attempt to fuck up their technology.”

 _“On the contrary, Mr Punchy; I think the decision was perfect. All you two have to do is breathe and, somewhere, a computer crashes.”_ As if on cue, Hardison’s device began to flash and the whirring of the machines stuttered to a halt, lights flickering before leaving Eliot and Parker in total darkness. They could hear shouts from the surrounding buildings, and the two backed against each other as the sound of running footsteps drew closer.

“You ready?” Eliot asked, glancing over his shoulder and seeing Parker’s excited grin in the dim light; he guessed it must be true that the Norse gods relished the rush of battle at least as much as an agent did.

“Always.” Came Parker’s response, spinning _Mjollnir_ in her hand and then tightening her grip on hammer, shoulders poised to throw.

The first were easy: scientists more concerned with the safety of their work than of their bodies, expecting to find a fault rather than any threat to their security. The pair took those out almost effortlessly, but allowing the researchers to call for back up as planned meant that security officers soon flanked to join them, and they were heavily outnumbered – freeing the laboratories and buying Nate and the captain more time. None of them were in uniform, Eliot noted as he leapt over a previously knocked out guard, honing in on his next target: The project, though dangerous, seemed to be a more organised version of Blackpoole’s ‘freedom fighter’ funding schemes – the dirty, underpaid faces of the alleged ‘soldiers’ currently flanking them made their radical aims clear. Eliot and Parker each concentrated on one half of the room, Parker sending _Mjollnir_ flying to take those nearing her down at the knees and Eliot taking a more traditional approach, ducking and weaving between enemies and occasionally striking a piece of machinery to add to the carnage, creating an atmosphere that demanded attention. The numbers of people against them became increasingly difficult to count, and Eliot’s jaw tightened as he continued to move, realising that even with the intel they’d been given, they had still managed to underestimate the number of people within the facility – unless Blackpoole had been expecting them. And if he had prepared for that, what else might be waiting to catch them off their guard?

A cry to his left drew Eliot’s attention, and he bounced off the shoulders of his current attackers, hoisting himself onto the machines to try and get a better view of the situation. On the other side of the room, Parker had been knocked off her feet and standing over her was the figure of a woman he recognised as a Mikel Dayan – a mercenary he’d often encountered in Asia before he had joined SHIELD. She was holding a weapon; a gun of some sort, and Parker had turned even paler than usual, barely supporting herself on her elbows and drained of strength. His teeth clenched: Mikel was good, he knew that from experience, but even she didn’t have the strength to take down a demigod. Eliot felt the buzzing of the comm in his ear as Parker asked the same question. Mikel’s laugh travelled across the room.

“You think we’re just going to sit back and let you flaunt your ‘godly’ powers?” She spat out, accent thick as she placed her foot on Parker’s chest, and Eliot sprung back into action, pushing through the remaining officers in an effort to protect his team mate, “No. There are weapons to stop you; it is just a matter of finding the man with both the knowledge and the price.” Mikel delivered a swift kick to the ribs, making Eliot scream into the comm, unable to reach her through the crowd.

“Hardison, get your ass over here; _we need you!”_

**

“Nate.”

Nate felt the pain in Captain America’s voice as she called out to him, frozen in place along the corridor as the others’ desperation rang in their ears. He had long since given up delivering instructions to his teammates, so caught up in the moment that they barely heard him. He slowed, turning to face her in his suit and noting the stuttered nature of her breathing as she tried to control it, the slight hitch in her throat and the tensing of her muscles. His own shoulders stiffened as Parker’s distressed vitals echoed in PAUL’s voice around his helmet, and he clenched armoured fists, jaw working as he tried for comforting words.

“We trust them,” was all he could muster, visor catching the way the captain’s eyes glistened behind her mask, “and if we don’t keep going, it won’t matter whether or not they survive.”

“That’s…not what I was wanting to hear.” The Captain told him with a sad smile. Nate took a step towards her, arm reaching out slightly before thinking better of the movement – it probably wouldn’t be as effective in his suit, anyway.

“I know. But I’ll tell you they’ll be alright when we’re all out of this.” The captain hesitated before nodding curtly, moving to catch up with him.

The pair moved steadily along the corridor, peering in through doors and ducking every time they thought they might be spotted by those who had stayed behind in the research centre. Nate took a second to curse Sterling for the lack of information related to the layout of the warehouses – surprisingly sophisticated in their interior – despite the man’s claims that he’d been inside them to validate his suspicions.

“How are we even going to know if we’ve found the right room anyway?” The captain asked next to him, “All of them seem pretty scientific to me.”

“Good thing you’re working with a genius, then.” Nate responded, more focused on getting to the next door than his response, “We’re looking for petri dishes and a heater which looks a little like an oven. It should be obvious when we see it; Blackpoole’s funding and researchers being injected into this project aside, it’s still ultimately being run by amateur fanatics. I’m just hoping one of them had the common sense to call him.”

“You’re _hoping_ for that?”

“Yeah. It’ll be pretty gratifying to have him watch us put this scheme down, and it’s irrefutable proof that he’s involved, isn’t it? Not that that matters so much with SHIELD…”

“Nate.” Nate halted, turning to her impatiently before responding.

“You’ve been saying that an awful lot recently, and this suit isn’t designed for stealth so it would be much better if we could keep moving. What?”

“You _are_ just going to hand him over to SHIELD, aren’t you? I know – I’ve heard – what he’s done to your…to you is despicable, but it’s better that the authorities deal with him. You don’t want that on your hands.” Nate’s fists clenched once more, the sounds of Parker and Eliot shouting, and of Hardison’s running to rescue them on the comm fusing with the memories of his son’s death. One helpless, fragile arm emerging from the rubble and the last part of Sam he would ever see. What Blackpoole had done was more than despicable; more than unforgivable. But how could he explain that to someone who had never been a parent? At least, it wasn’t on her records.

“We’ll see.” He replied, voice tight, turning swiftly on his heels to prevent the captain from saying more. “We’re reaching the end of the corridor now; it has to be one of these rooms.”

“Do you enjoy stating the obvious, Mr Ford?” A thick Russian accent punctuated the awkward silence. One of the doors ahead of them opened, and PAUL buzzed into action, examining their surroundings and highlighting possible defences. Captain America gripped her shield, moving quickly to Nate’s side, ready to fight as a tall man with thinning dark hair emerged, leaning on a large bazooka that PAUL’s lock on quickly informed him was of Nate’s own design, “Because I find it to be rather annoying.”

“That thing takes time to fire, you know.” Nate commented, already using his targeting system to lock on the man.

“Yes. But I suspect you have not been informed of the codes needed to access the virus in its current state. I know your source, he is a tricky man; as am I. So if you would like my help, I need to be kept alive.”

“What makes you so valuable?” the captain challenged, and the Russian laughed.

“My name is Sergei. You may not have heard of me and I prefer to keep it that way, but I –“

“I have.” Nate interrupted, mouth curving into a self-satisfied smile behind the helmet. He wasn’t going to reveal that PAUL’s facial recognition system had only just found a match, “Russian Mafia. So the bratva has an interest in this, too?”

“When the virus is complete, Mr Blackpoole intends to sell to the highest bidder,” Sergei’s grin was wide and oddly gentle, “Of course we were to offer our assistance. But he is in there now, fully aware of your, ah, escapade, and it would suit us more if he were removed from the equation.”

“Removing the fee as well, right?” The captain asked, and Sergei clapped slowly.

“We understand each other! I like that.”

“Apart from the part where there is no way in hell that we’re going to let you walk away with that kind of threat, sure we do.” She retorted.

“Ah. Then I am afraid I must once again side with Mr Blackpoole.” The captain laughed, gesturing to the bazooka.

“You really think you can take us on with just that?”

“Mr Ford can shoot me in the blink of an eye and you are superhuman, of course not. But I do know that team spirit can be a wonderfully exploitable weakness, and strong as you are, _kapit_ _án_ , you still have the capacity to bleed.”

Without warning, the door to their left blasted open, a huge, brutish, bearded figure catching Nate unawares and flinging him along the corridor. Slamming into the wall, he felt the plaster crumble around him, wincing as his suit let out a loud, malfunctioning whine. Groaning, he had enough time to take in the blurry image of Sergei bending down to power up the bazooka, and further in the distance the captain on her knees, a hand to her face and shoulder, before his vision turned to static and went black.

“You are acquainted with stories of the Butcher of Kiev, I assume?” Sergei spoke over the sounds of combat, sound flickering as Nate’s computer systems attempted to restart themselves, “He’s usually known for his strength in hand to hand combat, but he has some throwing skills as well. Better suited for attacking your patriotic friend, I believe.”

Nate shook himself, quickly preparing a counter attack when one of the neck joints in his suit sparked, burning his cheek. Nate jolted, lifting a hand to the joint and panicking when it buzzed.

“What’s going on?” PAUL’s voice was disjointed as it replied.

“Sir – our assailant – a small explosive – chest. Wiring damage – defences 63%” a shrill whine sounded to his left.

“What’s that?”

“ – bazooka charging, sir.”

“Shit,” Nate gritted his teeth, loss of vision mixed with the cacophony of sounds making him struggle to concentrate; he had no idea what fire power he had left. Another set of sparks shocked across his jawline, and he had just enough time to command PAUL before ripping the helmet off: “Use whatever we’ve got – take him down!”

He didn’t hear the soft click of his bullet releasing as he threw the helmet away from him, shortly before the entire headpiece began to spark, but he did catch Sergei’s scream when it shattered his kneecap. The Russian man crumpled, bazooka falling to his side, triggering automatically and Nate dived to the side, narrowly avoiding the explosion which felled yet more of the wall behind him. Turning, he found the captain pulling herself slowly to her feet, the infamous Butcher lying with his arms flopping loosely over the shield which had knocked him unconscious. She gave a weak smile, wincing when the stretching of her facial muscles pulled at the cut the Butcher’s throwing knife had made.

“Are you alright?” Nate asked, moving to examine her injuries – there was a deeper gash on her shoulder which looked worrying – and was startled when the woman turned away from him, flinching at his approaching hand.

“I’m fine.” She told him, though her voice was strained, “I heal fast, anyway. Don’t you think we should be moving?”

“I’m not taking you into a room with a deadly virus in when you’re bleeding!” Nate responded dubiously, “Just let me take a look.”

He made a grab for her jaw, catching the tear in her mask as she moved to avoid him. He settled with what he could and pulled, stretching the material back and using it to angle her face towards him. When she met his eyes, half of her face exposed and revealing a familiar arched eyebrow and high cheekbones, his grip faltered in shock, causing the mask to snap back and the captain to cry out in pain.

“Sophie?”

“Be a bit gentler after making all that fuss over it, wouldn’t you?” Sophie exclaimed, American accent dropped in favour of rough British scolding. Nate gawped as she carefully began to remove the rest of her mask, dropping his helmet and grasping her shoulders before remembering she had another injury there and letting go as if she were on fire.

“Sophie?” He tried again, unable to comprehend much more beyond the fact that his personal assistant was standing in front of him, dressed in the clothes of a superhero…because she was one. She had been training with him the whole time and offering criticism and support whenever he arrived back at his house to complain about the Captain – which had been her the whole time, “No wonder I found your nagging so comforting…” he muttered, and Sophie’s eyebrows shot up.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, hands on her hips, and Nate wondered how he could have been so oblivious as to miss the resemblance, quickly backtracking.

“I mean…I just…Why didn’t you tell me?” His tone turned bitter, thankful for the change of subject and genuinely hurt by the fact that she had kept the information from him. He had entrusted his business; his entire life after Sam to her, and there was nothing he didn’t run by her before doing (well, a few things, but they only counted if you asked Sophie). Sophie’s eyes softened slightly.

“I didn’t want you protecting me,” she explained, “It was high time someone did that for you.”

“I…” Nate couldn’t think of a response for that, still frozen in place, brain working frantically to catch up. Realisation dawned and suddenly he frowned in confusion, narrowing his eyes accusingly, “Why the hell are you Captain America if you’re _British?_ ” Sophie sighed, hands waving in exasperation.

“Do you really think now is the time to be discussing that or shall we leave Blackpoole unattended with the virus that could wipe out most of the population?” she asked him sarcastically, breezing past him with the air of someone who had just gained the upper hand over her boss.

Really, Nate thought as he stumbled awkwardly to catch up with her, the truth was that simply by being Sophie Devereaux she probably had.

**

Hardison raced across the grounds, vision shaky as he crashed through the panicked researchers milling around him. He could still hear Parker’s strained breathing through the comms, trying so hard to hide that she was in pain; Eliot’s attempts to reach her and the taunting voice of the woman who had her pinned. Blind rage taking over him, he made no effort to control himself, breaking through the doors and loosening his tie as he felt his body begin to contort, skin paling and muscles stretching painfully, all thoughts other than ‘ _Parker’_ gone from his mind.

Hardison’s ‘hulk’ form had only ever been a concept to Eliot, witnessed on CCTV footage and descriptions when compiling his file but never up close: the hacker had been perfectly controlled during training, preferring to exercise his brain and criticise the others from a distance. When the gigantic figure emerged in the doorway, he barely had time to recognise the creature as Hardison before grey-green arms tore at one of the nearby machines, ripping it from the floor. The Hulk swiped mindlessly with the object, sending a wave of militia across the room – and in Eliot’s direction. Wincing as one of the bodies, limp and terrified, slammed into him, he tossed the man away from him, preparing for the onslaught of those still well enough to lift themselves who would make it even more difficult for him to reach Parker. Not that he thought she would be in distress for much longer, given the way Hardison was advancing on Mikel.

“Parker!” Hardison’s cry was deep and tortured, the strain on his vocal cords evident. Most of the remaining soldiers had begun to flee at the wretched sound, and Eliot was smart enough to keep his distance, watching carefully lest he need to intervene. Mikel glanced at Parker, still weakened by the technology whose existence Eliot still failed to comprehend, dismissing her as a threat and turning to face the approaching Hulk. Backing up, the mercenary’s hand drifted to the belt at her hips, smirking as she released a pair of nun chucks. She flipped them quickly in her hands and they began to spark, making Eliot wince; they were charged. Expression setting, the woman dived forward, driving the nun chuck’s into Hardison’s chest. Eliot could see a small film of smoke as the skin began to blister, and couldn’t help but feel concerned for the hacker’s more human half – though the injuries only served to fuel the Hulk’s anger and motivation, they looked as though they would be devastating on his usual, much slimmer frame. Hardison screeched, wrapping thick arms around his attacker, features grimacing as the electrical charge pressed closer to him but holding firm, Mikel struggling without success to get away from his crushing grip.

“Parker.” Hardison said again as he picked Mikel up, bending his head to see his teammate attempting to drag herself to her feet. Eliot began to move, sensing the worst was over, and knelt by Parker’s side as Hardison’s attention returned to the mercenary. Mikel was known in the business for getting out of difficult situations; for committing mass murder when all she had to fight were the supplies she could gather from a broom cupboard, but as Eliot began to move Parker towards the side of the room, he could hear the fear in her gasps when she squirmed. Hardison regarded her coolly for a minute in his hands, an almost dazed expression on his face, before his expression contorted and his arms stretched backwards to throw, “You hurt her!”

Eliot didn’t think that many would survive the flight path that Mikel took, and he couldn’t prevent a low whistle of admiration as he watched the mercenary retain all of her training, arms reaching out for one of the lights hanging from the ceiling to halt her fall. She hesitated in place, obviously injured, but as Hardison began to start towards her again she dropped, bending her knees and rolling on impact before darting through the doorway. The Hulk took a few steps forwards, a low growl in his throat until he remembered why it was he had been attacking the woman in the first place, spinning inelegantly to where he had left Parker – only to find that she was no longer there.

“We’re over here, Hardison.” Eliot called, wary of the huge figure who stumbled to face him but thinking that the fact that he could recognise Parker could only be a good sign. Hardison began walking towards them, eyes fixed on Parker who was attempting to catch her breath by Eliot’s side, “Man, you’re one hell of a backup! I have no idea where she got that weapon from; I seriously thought we were – “

The agent’s thanks were cut off when large fists curled around the collar of his uniform, hoisting him into the air and pinning him against the wall. Eliot met Hardison’s black eyed gaze with momentary confusion and then panic as he was pushed further back with nowhere to go, pressure on his ribs making it increasingly more difficult to breathe. The growling had resumed, and it dawned on Eliot as he tried futilely to pry open the Hulk’s fingers that because Hardison’s need to protect Parker had been what had caused the transformation, she was the only clear thought in his mind, and anyone else was an unknown threat to her safety.

“Hardison,” he gasped, almost able to feel his bones bending with the force of the Hulk’s grip, “Hardison we’re a team; it’s Eliot; I was helping her.” He kept his sentences short, hoping that something would click in the hacker’s brain. Beside him, Parker was yelling hoarsely, _Mjollnir_ lying several useless feet away from her whilst she still lacked the strength to move. The noise seemed to confuse Hardison further, and he pulled one arm backwards, curling it into a fist as the other held Eliot fast against the wall. Hardison jerked slightly, eyes widening as he paused in his actions, looking around in outrage before shaking himself. Eliot braced himself for the punch that would probably send him through the building when a new voice pierced through Hardison’s low growls.

“Gotcha.” Hardison jerked once more, his grip loosening on Eliot slightly and the agent wasted no time in freeing himself, slipping through the narrow gap and moving towards Parker once he hit the floor. The hulk frowned, confused, arm reaching half-heartedly toward his back as he fell to his knees, and there was the sick cracking sound of bones remoulding, Hardison’s frame thinning and skin returning to a familiar, deep brown shade. The hacker slumped, eyes rolling backwards as the final stages of the transformation continued, and behind him a man in a SHIELD uniform hefted a crossbow over his shoulders with a casual shrug. Eliot recognised the agent in an instant.

“Hawkeye.” Eliot acknowledged, and Parker looked between the two in confusion, slow to make the connection between the uniforms and dragging herself towards Hardison, slapping his cheeks in earnest.

“We’re not training here, Spencer. Quinn is fine. Unless you want me to keep calling you the Widow?” the man responded, and Parker grabbed his ankle, furious.

“What did you do to him?” Hardison was unmoving, but Quinn smiled casually, bending over to pluck two darts from the back of the hacker’s head.

“Tranquiliser. It was developed especially by SHIELD for this type of incident. Hardison helped with it, actually. He should come round in a few minutes.”

“Why are you here?” Eliot asked, suspicious, and Quinn held his hands up in a gesture of peace.

“So many questions! I was assigned as your…backup outside of the team, so to speak. I wasn’t really expecting to be needed, but it turns out that Archie’s pretty wise in these situations.” Quinn pulled Parker to her feet, allowing her to lean on him and looking towards Eliot.

“Are you going to get him? He’ll still be woozy when he wakes up, and I don’t think we’ll be much use, but I’m pretty sure you guys are going to want to see this mission to the end, right?”

**

The laboratory was, all too predictably, at the end of the corridor, and once Nate had used a serum from his personal first aid kit – never say being confined in a suit left him unprepared – to sterilise and seal the worst of the damage of Sophie’s injuries, they threw the door open, weapons at the ready. All hope had been lost of a covert entry since the noise they had created in the corridor, and so Nate was expecting a tough battle made more difficult by the absence of his helmet, but their entrance was met with nothing but the low hum of a remote power generator. Blackpoole was alone in the room, stood in front of a large metal box which Nate could only assume was the oven in which the virus was being kept. The laboratory itself was surprisingly simple given the amount of buildings which the organisation had commandeered and the amount of power they were using, but Nate quickly dismissed the observation. He was unable to focus on anything but the fact that this was the first time he had seen Blackpoole since the moment he had discovered he was responsible for Sam’s death.

“Are you here to kill me, Nate?” Blackpoole asked him, tone placid but eyes fixed uncertainly on Nate’s wrist: the most known source of weaponry in his suit. Sophie’s hand reached for his arm, but he shook her off, taking a step forward.

“I could do, you know.” Nate replied, voice shaking as he attempted to control his anger. It would take barely any effort for him to raise a finger, and even with the damage his suit had taken he had more than enough power to send a bullet through the older man’s head. His lips curled slightly in satisfaction at the image of it, as vivid as the memory of losing Sam. Sophie stood silent behind him, and he realised that even she found it hard to condemn what Nate itched to do now that she was faced with the man himself. Blackpoole chuckled, hands spread at his sides as though offering himself.

“Go ahead. There is one slight problem, though: I’ve done my calculations, and the speed and force of those powerful little bullets of yours would no doubt go straight through me and into that oven. One smashed dish and you release the virus. Is my death worth that much to you?”

“There’s no way you’re getting out of this situation, Blackpoole.” Sophie began, gaze fierce and determined, “Your forces are demobilised, and we have undisputable proof that all of this was your doing. You have no hope of escape, let alone with the virus so you can give up all thoughts of making a profit now.” Blackpoole laughed.

“Profit? The money was a bonus! I was never intending to _sell_ , merely collect payment and then release the virus myself. It’s not like they could have any bite to their objections whilst on their deathbeds.” He shook his head, “I didn’t fund the creation of this weapon; didn’t pour my resources and the health of my company into this operation simply so it could lie, threatening but unused on the shelf of some foreign power’s armoury. This world needs a fresh start, and I was going to lead it.” Nate’s breath hitched at the last sentence, latching on to a single word: _was_. He began to pay more attention to his surroundings, noting the single exit; the way the door, though outwardly simple, had extensions beyond the boundaries of the doorway. He laughed quietly to himself – Blackpoole was crazy, and he only wanted to make an effect. The solution was staring them in the face.

“Sophie, I need you to go.” Nate began slowly, and Sophie’s features furrowed, not understanding.

“What?”

“The comms went offline eight minutes ago; I need you to check on the others. We’re going to need them.”

“But –“

“Go!” Nate’s shout echoed across the laboratory, and he met Sophie’s gaze firmly, letting her know that he had a plan. Sophie hesitated, searching his face and taking a small step backwards towards the door until she finally nodded, turning and running down the corridor.

“Wait for me!” she called as she ran, and Nate didn’t respond, instead striding across the room to close the door.

“You’ve been experimenting in here.” He said, watching Blackpoole’s quizzical expression, “The door had to be sealed so that nothing would reach the rest of the warehouse.” He set the panel on the door to lock, suddenly realising that the security on the room had been completely disabled when he and Sophie had arrived. He smiled at Blackpoole, whose eyes lit up in return, “I was going to say that I’m happy to wait it out until one of us starved, but this is what you wanted all along, wasn’t it?”

“I was never going to win, Nathan.” Blackpoole sounded old; weary, “Not once you found out about us. But I could at least be the man who brought down the nation’s favourite superhero. Causing the emotional and physical demise? That’s an achievement worth dying for.”

“It’s a pretty unique combination you’ve got there, isn’t it? An interesting molecular structure.”

“I believe so.”

“It can be neutralised, though. And I’ve had a good few weeks to prepare something of my own.” Blackpoole’s eyes widened at Nate’s confident words, and his hand moved towards the handle of the oven, fingers twitching.

“Even if you can do that, you’re still dead before it’s countered.” Nate shrugged.

“Saving the world? I’m pretty sure that’s an achievement worth dying for, as well. An achievement my son would be proud of.” Nate pressed a button on his suit, a small phial emerging from a pocket in his left leg, and he handled it gently, “Let’s see whose quicker on the draw, shall we?”

**

Sophie stopped as she neared the end of the corridor, the others trailing at a much slower pace behind her, hands clapped to her mouth as she saw the glass pane of the laboratory door fill with yellow smoke. Breath catching in her throat, she barely registered her feet racing the remaining distance, palms slamming against the panel and tears stinging her eyes.

“Don’t you dare be dead!” she screamed furiously, “There’s so much paperwork for you to do and you have a team to look after and I don’t have anyone else in this time but you!” The rest of the team caught up, noting the fumes in the laboratory with panic, and Quinn began to drag Sophie away from the door, struggling against her attempts to reach it.

“Captain.” He said, voice strained, “Stop this; it’s too dangerous.”

“I have to get to him!” she cried, voice despairing, repeating the phrase over and over and fighting, Eliot putting Hardison down to try and help his agent restrain her. She kicked out, and Parker grabbed one of her boots, gripping it tightly as her strength began to recover. Parker’s own eyes were gleaming, her expression desolate and Sophie froze when she turned to look at her.

“I do not want to lose you as well.” Parker stuttered out, quietly, and her words washed over Sophie, making her knees give way. Shaking, she grabbed onto Parker, pulling her closer and holding her tightly, her face buried in the deity’s shoulder.

Sophie continued to sob, muffling the sounds in Parker’s armour and she didn’t hear the lab door opening, the other’s panicked intake of breath or the sound of a body being dragged across the floor. Nate took in the sight of his team (plus one extra, he said, vaguely recalling the additional presence as the man Eliot had been talking to when he first arrived at SHIELD), rumpled and worn from combat, and a strange feeling rose in his chest, coming out as a strangled sound between a sob and a

“Relax, it’s not the virus. I neutralised it and took him out with a repulsor; he’s only unconscious and I was planning on handing him over to SHIELD. All assembled, are we?” Though he spoke brightly, his expression was grim, and Sophie stared at the man, suit covered in scratches and helmet still lying broken in the corridor. Nate gave her a weak smile, about to tell her that he was alright –

– Only to feel the impact of the captain’s shield against his chest, knocking him backwards and forcing him to fall onto Blackpoole behind him. Groaning, he lifted his head up to see Sophie marching towards him, tears dry and expression furious.

“What did I say?”  She said as she arrived at his feet, crouching down to punch him in the chest, “I told you to wait for me! Not to do something ridiculous as…whatever you did! And don’t try to explain it to me and impress me with whatever scheme you had planned because it was foolish, and stupid, and you could have died!” Nate opened his mouth to protest, arguing that maybe she ought to be more grateful to someone who risked his life to save the world, when his mouth was otherwise occupied by Sophie’s lips. He choked slightly, shocked and still dazed from the fumes before returning the kiss, closing his eyes and reaching a metal hand around to support the back of her neck. Sophie pulled away, meeting his gaze with heavy lidded eyes, still red from crying, and the moment was swiftly ruined by Parker’s cheering.

“Avengers Assemble…I like that catchphrase!” The girl was informing the others, and Nate laughed, letting Sophie help him to his feet and moving to join the rest.

“We’re not having a catchphrase, Parker.” He chastised, watching as Quinn moved to retrieve Blackpoole and trusting that he would suffer enough in the hands of SHIELD, “But you can try and persuade me a little more back at headquarters, after we’ve reported our first successful mission.”

**

“Man, I gotta side with Parker, you know – ‘Avengers Assemble’ does sound pretty cool. I mean, it alliterates!” Hardison was saying three days later as he and Eliot filed into the conference room, Nate, Sophie and Parker already waiting for them. Eliot scowled, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to trust the opinion of a geek who might still have concussion.” He retorted fiercely, and Nate and Sophie exchanged fond looks, finding it oddly comforting that the two had so easily resumed their bickering. Sophie no longer wore her Captain America uniform to SHIELD’s headquarters, and she and Nate had made their way from Ford industries together; a real step after the awkward silences and accusations which had been flying once they had recovered from the adrenaline rush of the mission. Nate rubbed his hands together as Eliot and Hardison took seats, eager to voice his ideas to the team.

“Right, now that we’re all asse – _here_ ,” he emphasised the change of word, ignoring Parker’s disappointed, puppy-dog expression, “I was thinking we could start to take a look at smaller jobs. Make a name for ourselves as a group the nation can trust, so to speak.”

“What, like rescuing cats stuck in trees?” Hardison asked incredulously, and Nate began to protest, only to be interrupted when the screens behind him flickered to life, Nate turning to see the face of Sterling grinning broadly into a webcam. Parker stood up with a cry, and the others watched her, confused.

“Oh, I think you’ll have a lot more to deal with than that, soon enough.” Sterling announced, before giving a nod in Parker’s direction. Nate’s eyes locked on her horrified expression, narrowed calculatingly, “Oh, hello, sister darling. I had rather been hoping that the technology from Jotunheim I sold to Arabian officials would have been enough to get rid of you in the last mission, but it seems Mikel’s reputation exceeds her capabilities.”

“Sister?” Eliot and Hardison mouthed the word incredulously, and Sterling laughed on the screen.

“I haven’t had the hardship of being acquainted with most of you, yet, have I?” he began, “Well, first and foremost, my name on Earth is James Sterling, former colleague of Blackpoole – thanks a bunch for taking care of that, by the way – and Nate’s source of information. However, I’m much better known on Asgard as Loki, _false_ brother of your precious Parker and something of a…nemesis, as they say. I won’t keep you, I just wanted to express my gratitude for your outstanding display of stupidity the other day; it really boosted my confidence in my plans.”

“And what plans are these?” Nate’s expression had hardened, the betrayal of his friend coupled with his threats and Parker’s obvious pain at seeing her brother turning him cold. Sterling wagged a finger patronisingly.

“Now, that would be telling. You’ll find out soon, I’m sure!” With a soft click, the screens went blank and the team were left speechless, staring at the screen as though it might give them more information. Parker alone was staring at the floor, hands turning white as she gripped the table’s surface, quivering with some withheld emotion. Nate took a deep breath.

“Well, team. Looks like it’s time to save the world, at least one more time.”

FINIS

  



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